


Dark Avengers Porn

by manicr



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic), Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicr/pseuds/manicr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark Avengers based porn stories, primarily Daken/Bullseye. Smut and nothing but.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistaken Medication (Daken/Bullseye)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: drugs, dub-con, oral fixation, fingering, anal sex.  
> Summary: The best drugs aren’t free, but Bullseye has prescriptions.

Daken started his day by answering his door and being pummeled to the ground by a seemingly irate Bullseye. Now whereas being assaulted by Bullseye wasn’t unexpected or all that unusual, the manner in which it was occurring was however very unusual. A forceful kiss surprised Daken enough to open his mouth and allow for Bullseye to force his tongue in. It wasn’t at all how he had expected to start his day, not that he was complaining, merely that he was somewhat bemused by the whole affair.

Bullseye was straddling his hips, pressing down on his shoulders and quite energetically attempting to devour him whole through his mouth. He tastes of orange juice and blood, not all together unpleasant, and his scent was pure lust and animal musk. Daken kissed back, just to see what would happen, and tried to shift as the floor was uncomfortable and Bullseye’s weight rather substantial. Bullseye moaned happily into his mouth, sucking at Daken’s tongue and then biting at his lips. He wasn’t a bad kisser, if a bit sloppy, but Daken didn’t feel that this was going where he wanted it too - or more accurately how he wanted it to. Grabbing Bullseye by the arms, Daken pried him off him much to the other man’s displeasure and non-verbal protests.

“Good morning to you too, Lester,” Daken gasped, still restraining the other man who was glowering at him, and dare he think it, pouting at the lack of contact and transference of bodily fluids. “Have you possibly taken Mac’s medication today and not your own?” He queried and grabbed Bullseye by the face to stop him from trying to kiss and, kid you not, lick him again.

“Need you,” was all the reply he managed to get before Bullseye slipped into incoherence and vigorous attempts of stripping him of his clothing. An awkward affair, as he was currently firmly seated in Daken’s lap.

“Ground control to Bullseye,” Daken snapped at him, sending a wave of pheromones to incite fear, but it didn’t quite have the intended effect. On the bright side, Bullseye stopped sexually assaulting him. On the other hand, he affected the look of a kicked dog and whimpered - actually whimpered - in a pitiful manner.

Daken winced at the sight and sound of it, and concluded that the entire affair had to be the work of either faulty medication or some kind of mind control - as was to be expected in their line of business. It was a bother that it had to happen before breakfast and in his personal quarters. Had Bullseye made a fool of himself in public there would have been some benefits. Well, he could always harass Lester about this after the whole thing was sorted out. 

“Don’t make that face,” Daken said out of quite obviously misguided pity and caressed the side of Bullseye’s face, who, in turn, promptly kissed his hand and went about sucking his fingers in a very distracting manner. A wet tongue licked and teased him, lips soft but firm around his fingers - first one, then two and finally three - taking him in to the knuckle and then sliding back to the tip of his fingers and then back again without releasing him. Daken thought of that mouth wrapped around his cock and shivered, a grin slipping unbidden on his face before he controlled himself.

“Tut, tut, that’s quite enough,” Daken admonished and freed his hand from Bullseye’s surprisingly skilled mouth. Saliva slicked his fingers and he wiped them off on Bullseye’s spandex covered and muscular thigh, his thoughts wandering to more interesting things he could have done. Bullseye squirmed and stared at him through lowered lids, blue eyes bright and glassy. He would have doubtlessly welcomed any of Daken’s fantasies - even the blood soaked ones.

“Want you,” Bullseye growled, leaning forward to rub his face against the crook of Daken’s neck. He muttered something incoherent into his shoulder and then bit down, not too forcefully but with some strength. 

Nevertheless, Daken did like his partner’s incoherence to be caused by him - or at the very least for its cause to be known to him. He didn't enjoy not knowing. Once more taking a hold of Bullseye’s jaw, to keep him from biting or kissing him and to still in his lap, Daken scrutinized him with all of his senses. Regardless of his careful inspection and the acuity of his senses, Daken could not discern anything but a heightened arousal in his otherwise very taciturn and self-denying team mate. Everything except for his behavior seemed normal right down to his Hawkeye costume - sans the mask - and breakfast choices.

Daken clucked his tongue in disapproval, eliciting yet another whine from Bullseye’s swollen, pink lips. It was quite obvious that Lester had some awareness of his surroundings and comprehension of the state of things, but there didn’t seem to be much conscious thought occurring in combination with it. Nominally, Daken would have taken full advantage of this, but it did reduce some of Lester’s charm.

This was the moment that Bullseye decided to grind down on him, setting a languid pace of rolling hips and clenching thighs and ass. Daken let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a hum, involuntarily thrusting up at Bullseye’s warm and firm body. He softened his grip of the other man’s jaw and played with Bullseye’s lips with his thumb, enjoying the soft wetness as a contrast to the stubble on his chin.

“You are really testing my patience,” Daken chided halfheartedly, “are you that keen on getting fucked?” He let his free hand slip down to Bullseye’s firm ass - beneath that ridiculous loincloth - squeezing at it. Lester made a happy little moan and rubbed down on him; Daken could feel his erection press at him through the Hawkeye costume.

“Sweetness, with behavior like this I won’t be able to resist,” Daken cooed into his ear, planting kisses along Bullseye’s jaw to the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t— need you,” Bullseye groaned, his voice husky, clutching at him and continuing his teasing grinding.

"Ah-ah, are you going to be a good boy?” Daken asked affectionately, placing both hands firmly on his buttocks, rubbing and squeezing in the same rhythm as his movements.

”Please,” Bullseye cried and moved in a way that felt impossibly good. Guiding Bullseye with a hand to the back of his neck - in a spectacular display of poor judgment - Daken pressed a deep kiss to his mouth. Once more he tasted blood and urged on by this he ran his tongue along Bullseye’s teeth and bit his lips until he could taste his own blood as well.

“Good. You’re a good boy,” Daken moaned, gasping for air, bucking up at Bullseye and mouthing open kisses at his neck. Bullseye rode him wantonly, grinding and rolling, and clutching at Daken’s shoulders for dear life.

Daken started to tear his costume off, unsatisfied by mere frottage. Carefully using his claws, he cut off the offending tights and underlying underwear but left the loincloth in place - enjoying seeing it fulfill its function in the most inadequate manner possible. Bullseye’s erection was plainly visible beneath it and Daken had easy access to everything interesting. And Lester did make a delicious display. 

“Hey, Daken, have you seen— eek my eyes, my eyes!” Mac cried out and cowered in the open doorway. Daken stopped his pleasurable activities with a huff, glaring at Mac who was hiding his face in his hands.

“What? I’m a bit busy here,” Daken remarked slipping into a purr, “unless you’d like to join in?”

“What? No! Fuck no! J-just, Osborn told us to find Bullseye—” Mac stammered, and cringed as he inadvertently looked at them.

“You’ve found him,” Daken replied, kissing Lester and then biting him gently on the ear. “All in one piece. What’s it to Norman?”

“He wigged out at breakfast when we were talking — eh, about you, actually. Acted real strange - even for him - and then bolted. Osborn told us to track him down and stuff,” Mac explained, glancing only slightly to affirm what he had seen and then shuddering in disgust at the sight of it.

“Well, that’s one mystery less,” Daken remarked, mostly to himself, bouncing Lester in his lap a little, making him moan loudly. “Drugs, most likely then.”

Mac grimaced and shook like a wet dog, shying away from them as if it helped matters.

“So, what now?” Daken muttered, slightly resentful of Mac’s interruption. Lester whined in his lap, rubbing his body against his, dismayed by the lack of attention.

“—medical?” Mac hazarded, still with the same look of intense disgust bordering on terror.

“Hmm, yes. I’ll take care of that,” Daken responded absentmindedly, caressing Bullseye’s face, who leaned into his touch. “You go along and tell Norman all is in hand, yes?”

“Yeah— gonna go ahead and tell him alright, you fuckin’ perv,” Mac gulped and ran away.

“Yes, I’ll take good care of you,” Daken murmured to Bullseye who latched down on Daken’s neck, biting and sucking - it would doubtfully leave a mark but Daken appreciated the thought.

“Now where were we?” Daken hummed, petting his shaved head and neck. “I’m afraid that we’ll have to keep it short.”

With a smile, Daken offered his fingers to Bullseye’s eager mouth who took him in without a moments hesitation, sucking and licking. After he was satisfied with the wetness, Daken slipped them out again and instead slid his fingers down the cleft of Bullseye’s ass, playing with him gently. The dirty noise that escaped Lester’s mouth made Daken growl in response and slip in a slick finger, spreading his cheeks with the other hand. Pleased by the empty tightness, Daken pressed in another one which Bullseye welcomed happily by fucking himself on his fingers, moaning as Daken crooked his fingers inside of him. 

Impatient and aroused, Daken removed his hand and released his own erection from its confines - happy that he was wearing his own clothing, and no underwear, that day. Just as he positioned himself at his slick hole, Bullseye sank down on his cock with a content sigh, seemingly unable to feel pain.

“Ah!” Daken cried out then chuckled darkly, savoring the feeling, “You naughty boy, so this is what you want?” he hissed in Bullseye’s ear, his breath hot on Lester’s sweat-slicked skin. A keening noise, and something that might have been interpreted as an affirmative, left Lester’s lips as Daken grabbed Bullseye by his ass and hips, setting a rough and torturous pace. They kiss and breathe each others air, Lester jerking his own cock, awkwardly pressed between their clothed bodies. He comes with a broken sob and Daken followed shortly thereafter - pushed to his own edge by the noises Lester made as his ass tightened around Daken’s cock.

“Ah- ah- that felt good,” Daken shuddered, slipping free of his body, “such a good boy.”

“Now, let’s get you looked at before Norman decides to send to dogs after you,” Daken murmured into Lester’s neck, slapping at Bullseye’s ass to get him to move. After some needlessly difficult maneuvering, Daken managed to guide his still incoherent, and unwilling to part with him, team mate to medical.

The following attempted massacre was not officially recognized but new - stricter - guidelines of storage and supply of medication were implemented. Daken found this a bit disappointing. However, Bullseye’s new-found mindless lust and need for sex was consolation enough, especially when they ended up in Daken’s bed.


	2. The Substitute (Daken/Bullseye, Bullseye/OMC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye has a problem he can’t seem to fix on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU after Siege.  
> Warnings: profanity, sex, violence, death, medication withdrawal/side-effect, panic attack, fixation

Bullseye sat crouched over the bar, nursing his third Stoli, trying to give off the biggest ‘fuck off’ aura he possibly could. He doesn’t care that his drinking was screwing with his medication; he can already feel the alcohol amplifying the drowsiness of the anti-psychotics he took. They made his head feel fuzzy and if he kept at drinking more vodka, it’d just rapidly get worse until he passed out into bona fide unconsciousness — combined with possible seizures and cardiac arrest. And this on him functioning on half of his normal prescription. Hurrah for the advancements of modern medication.

He drank deeply from the glass and slammed it on the bar. He ordered a new one. The bartender gave him a wary glance as he served him, but looked away again as Bullseye glowered at him, resolutely going back to making drinks for the men at the bar. That was another thing bothering him; the men at the bar. Because were almost exclusively men at this bar. And for a good reason, it was a fucking gay bar – lounge, whatever they called it. What he was doing there bottled down to one thing and one thing only; that fucking shithead Daken.

Long story cut short, during their Avenging days they ended up fucking. Repeatedly. Exhaustively. Fan-fucking-tastically. Thing is, shit happens and the happy days at Avengers came to a quick halt. The team escaped; died; went to jail – and Bullseye realized that life after Daken was a bit different. It had been humiliating and maddening. At first he’d tried to hunt the bastard down, to kill him and end it all proper like, but the fuckhead wasn’t even in the fucking country. Then he had tried his best to avoid the very thought of him.

But he couldn’t.

Bullseye knew that he was an obsessive monomanic personality - his shrinks had told him that more than once - but it had gotten a bit ridiculous even by his standards. Waking with a massive hard-on and nothing but the memory of Daken had allowed him to get off. Not even his usual torture fantasies helped. Killing people still got him hard. Thinking about killing people got him hard. Fucking dumb bitches and then killing them got him hard. But only the thought of Daken fucking him seemed to get him off. Bullseye really wanted to get off. There was only so much sexual frustration a man could realistically take. Especially, when what he did for a fucking living made him as turned on as Bullseye’s job did.

The snag here was that Bullseye really didn’t want to think of Daken or whatever fucked up thing that they’d had. He had tried to rationalize it into sex thing; his body had just decided that it liked being fucked without asking him. He could live with that. And considering, Daken was the only one who’d fucked him; he’d just ended up fixating on him. It wasn’t like he fucking cared about the fuckhead or something gay like that. It was about sex. Hence, the bar and the vodka.

This far, it wasn’t really working out so well. He’d managed to get in, order a drink and then his brain refused to go any longer with it. There really wasn’t anything about these men that attracted him, whereas, let’s say, Daken made him want to fuck like crazy. He couldn’t seem to find anything that had the same effect, the few times he managed to actually look at the men here, before having to retreat back to his brain-killing vodka. Maybe a bar was a bad place, he right about never went to bars for bitches, but he didn’t know where else to go — or how to go about it. Perhaps he should just give a fuck and wait until things were back to normal again. Then again three months was already bad enough. He really wanted to get laid.

“Rough day?” someone asked — it took Bullseye several seconds to understand that it was aimed at him, his body tensing like a coil in response and head snapping to attention. Next to him was a thirty-something man, presumably of south European decent. Not that his accent told anything about him other than born and bred New Yorker. Objectively speaking, Bullseye could tell that his new acquaintance could be considered… attractive. He’s tall, dark and handsome embodied in a tight t-shirt and jeans.

“Whoa, you really are as built as I thought you were. I give,” the man joked in an amused tone with his hands held up. It’s cheesy and dumb. Bullseye tried to relax but he wasn’t half as successful as he might want to be. He looked back into his glass, at some point he had emptied it, and wished that he was somewhere else. Annoyingly enough, the first place to pop into his head was in bed with Daken, getting fucked five-ways to Sunday. To his extreme embarrassment, he could feel his cheeks flush.

Unfortunately, the stranger hitting on him seemed to notice and made a noise Bullseye could swear was a muffled laugh. He felt himself getting angry and defensive, the need to smash his glass in the face of this douche starting to gnaw at his mind like a festering wound. He wanted to crave out his dark eyes and pull out his teeth and feed them to him.

“I’m sorry. Let me buy you a drink,” the stranger offered and made a placating gesture; it would be easy to kill him.

Reflexively, Bullseye replied, “Shouldn’t. Had too much already,” and proceeded to feel utterly stupid for sharing that information. Fucking everyone was always on his back about him drinking with his meds — he knew very well that he could never pull off more than two drinks without someone noticing. Daken always noticed regardless of how little he’d had to drink.

“That’s fine. Mind the company?” the man asked and smiled, gesticulating at the empty seat next to him. Bullseye shrugged and tried to feel less like a deer caught in the headlights - or like a cornered predator with a piece of meat thrown in his cage.

“Dominic,” the man introduced himself and offered him his hand.

“…Lester,” Bullseye replied, hating to use that name but it’s the only one that strikes him, but he doesn’t offer his own hand. Dominic lowered his hand with an awkward grin and ordered a beer for himself, drinking it slowly. They sit in silence and the minutes roll by. Bullseye thought that that’s the end of it, but his new acquaintance proved to be more resilient than that.

“So, I’m guessing you’re new to this, Lester,” Dominic stated bluntly and Bullseye stared at him, incredulous. “I’m not, so let’s make it easy on us both. Do you want to have sex with me? I live close enough,” Dominic asked and took a swing from the bottle. Bullseye hesitated, considering just how bad he wanted it and the fact that Dominic was barely interesting. Killing him would be more interesting. But that wouldn’t help the immediate problem.

But why not both?

“Yes,” left his mouth at the very thought, coming out breathier than Bullseye had intended. Dominic smiled and emptied his beer, paid his tab and got up to leave. Bullseye followed, a little unsteady on his feet due dizziness, but steadied himself quickly. Together, they leave the bar and hail a cab.

Dominic had not lied about living close by, taking a cab had nearly been redundant, and Bullseye had no time to contemplate his decision. Before he knew it, they were in front of a Manhattan apartment block and moments later in Dominic’s wood and latte colored abode. It wasn’t too fancy and had that bachelor feeling over it with the sports paraphernalia decorating it. Dominic seemed to be a fan of right about everything. At least he had the good taste not to have the stuff in his bed room.

Without much ado, Dominic led him to his bed, throwing his jacket on the floor, kicking off his shoes and kissing him. Bullseye responded in kind and tried to imagine all the ways he could kill this man, anything to make this painfully boring prelude to sex more attractive. He bit at Dominic’s lips and snarled, crushing his hips against his, all while in his mind replaying his gruesome death. As usually, it did the trick.

“I guess you’re not new to this,” Dominic gasped as soon as he freed himself from Bullseye’s “kiss” and took off his t-shirt, smiling roguishly. He was lean and well-built but nothing compared a real fighter or athlete.

“Shut up and fuck me already,” Bullseye demanded in reply, undid his jeans and discarded his own shirt. Dominic whistled at the sight of Bullseye’s scarred and muscular body, running his hand across his chest.

“Christ,” Dominic whispered and undressed himself, pressing Bullseye down on the bed and together they manage to get his shoes and jeans off him. They lie down and their limbs tangled as they kiss and grope. Dominic felt too tall and ungainly against him.

At this point, Bullseye tried not to think about it too much - he was never one for prolonged foreplay - but he wasn’t getting that usual kick of arousal. The only things keeping him semi-hard and interested are his own blood smeared fantasies. He thought about hurting Dominic, about really doing it then and there: strangling him; cutting him; twisting and breaking his bones. He held back in a vain hope that it’d get better.

“Fuck me,” Bullseye repeated, frustrated, and Dominic nodded in reply, scrambling for the nightstand for lube and condoms. It feels like a waste of time, he usually never bothered with the latter with Daken – a bit of lube sure, but still. It felt awkward as Dominic slicked him up, fingering him roughly, the lube cold and wet. Bullseye snarled in impatience and urged him to get it on with. Dominic got his act together and Bullseye felt like they were finally getting somewhere. The feeling of someone inside him took off the edge and his body started to cooperate with the whole sex business. Dominic isn’t even beginning to be nearly as good as Daken, too little force and not enough technique, but it’s better than anything since Daken. Bullseye growled at the thought, it both made him angry, angry at everything beginning and ending with Daken, and aroused at the mere memory. Still growling, he grinds back at Dominic and tries to get more; better; harder; anything to feed the need.

“You want it rough? I can deal,” Dominic replied, a bit out of breath, and pulled out. Bullseye hissed at this but got the point and changed position onto all four. Not missing a beat, Dominic grabbed him by the hips and entered him roughly, setting a far more violent pace but still not quite enough. It’s pleasurable enough to keep Bullseye’s interest and made his mind feel gratifyingly empty of all but sex – even the dizziness went away. Then Dominic fucking hits his sweet spot, Bullseye sobbed with pleasure at the feeling of being fucked hard, the mix of pain and pleasure getting him hard and to his edge. He moaned and begged Dom to fuck him even harder, clinging onto the sheets and grinding back at the other man.

Unfortunately, Dominic couldn’t seem to hold the pace for long and had to slow down on several instances and quite often, by Bullseye’s standard, getting a bad angle; making Bullseye feel less and less aroused. After a particularly bad thrust he lost all feelings of arousal and his moans become pained whimpers. It started to feel exactly like it was; another man’s dick in his ass. Uncomfortable, invasive and downright unpleasant. An undignified whine and sob left him, and evidently Dominic took this as a cue, ramming into him and finishing himself off with a groan.

“—you’re great, Lester. Fuck— Need a hand?” Dominic mumbled, pulled out, discarded the condom and crashed down next to him. Bullseye lay down on his stomach and shook his head — not particularly wanting to advertise the fact that he hadn’t, couldn’t, come. It pissed him off. He felt like crap - sore, used and dirty - and it was Daken’s fault. Everything was Daken’s fault.

He felt lightheaded again. He had started to shake.

“Hey, man. You alright?” Dominic wondered and put a hand on his shoulder, Bullseye slapped it away shrank away confused. He wasn’t a threat.

“I feel fine,” Bullseye lied and closed his eyes, just for a second just to get rid of that spinning sensation. He wanted Daken there.

“Daken?” Dominic asked puzzled, mispronouncing it and startling Bullseye into awareness.

“No one. I need to go,” Bullseye grunted, holding back emotion, and tried to get up. His head spun and he fell back down on the bed. He was shaking heavily, and breathing had become difficult. This was bad, he thought and tried to remember what he was supposed to do when his meds acted up.

“Shit, you don’t look too good,” Dominic remarked in a concerned tone and Bullseye just felt so angry at him — for saying Daken’s name, for pretending to care, for being a lousy lay, for seeing him like this. Bullseye grabbed a pencil from the nightstand, stabbing down at Dominic, erratically and barely hitting any vital areas. He fought, of course, but even feeling like his head was screwed on backwards Bullseye was a killer. There was blood everywhere. Dominic screamed and cried - Bullseye might have done the same. He needed it to be over. He needed him dead.

Before long, Dominic is a torn up mess on the bed and his blood cooled on Bullseye’s naked skin and soaked into the sheets and the mattress. Bullseye shivered and lay back down in the blood splattered bed, pulling his knees up for warmth. He shivered and tried to breathe, trying to make head or tails of things. Everything hurt. He doesn’t know how long he lies in bed with the cooling corpse, before he remembered that he had a mobile phone in his jacket pocket. A small little toy like thing. It had Daken’s number in it. He had not used it until now. He had tried to get to resolve to erase it but he’d always ended up not doing it. Besides, he didn’t even know if the number was valid.

Clumsily and with great effort, Bullseye retrieved it and crawled back in the bed — not because he wanted to but because it was the only position the world wasn’t completely fucked. Daken’s number was on speed-dial. He stared at it. With a shaking finger he pressed dial. He listened to it ring and felt increasingly worse and sick. Not about the corpse next to him, but about the sickness in his head and about the sickness in his body. About what would happen if Daken didn’t answer. About what would happen if he did.

It felt like an eternity before there was an answer.

“Hello?” a smooth and familiar voice replied at the other end — Bullseye thought he’d die just then and there. It took him a long while to say something, anything.

“— help me,” Bullseye begged in a shaky voice and he was crying.

“Where are you?” Daken asked moments later, and Bullseye was now sobbing - relief and pain mixing - as he told him.

“I’ll be there,” Daken replied quietly.

“Please don’t leave me,” Bullseye choked out but the signal was already lost.

Bullseye clung to the phone and waited. Daken was coming for him.


	3. Baseball & Beer (Bullseye/Mac Gargan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye and Mac have a night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: death, violence, gore, dubcon, handjob

“I’m not doing it,” Bullseye spat, his arms stiffly crossed and his face set in a sneer.

“This is not a request. It’s an order. You will attend to it,” Norman stated evenly and adjusted his tie. “Besides, think of it as a reward.”

“You think it a reward to baby-sit a cannibalistic nutjob?” Bullseye asked, brow raised and observing Norman with more than his usual level of contempt. “Did that thing you call your hair eat your brain?”

“I give you, from the kindness of my heart, an opportunity to engage in some R&R and you throw it in my face?” Norman hissed, his face going red with barely suppressed anger.

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you want us out of your awful hair, during that oh so important conference and open house visit?” Bullseye countered coolly, unmoved by his boss’ temper and threats.

“Do as I say - before I decide to have you permanently removed. Do not think, for even a moment, that you’re not entirely exchangeable. I have a file as thick as my arm for replacements - all of which are seeming far more profitable at the moment,” Norman said, gaining control over himself once more.

“Like who?” Bullseye laughed.

“Don’t test me. They are all very eager to have your position. At this point Barney Barton, Brock Rumlow, and Fred Myers are looking like good candidates—” Norman started.

“Trickshot and Crossbones? Fred Mye— Boomerang - friggin’ Boomer? Are you joking me, Normie? Fucking D-listers! Okay, I give you Crossbones, dude’s got some skill, but really—” Bullseye interrupted and burst into laughter.

“ENOUGH. You will go, and take Gargan with you, and stay gone until tomorrow,” Osborn gritted, color rising on his skin once more.

“Fine. See you in the morning, Normie,” Bullseye spat and stalked away, slamming the door behind him to Norman’s office.

“You’re such a primadonna, Bulls. As if you’re any better than those guys,” Mac said as he came out, grinning widely. He was in his civvies - or rather the symbiote was making it look like he was, though Bullseye was pretty sure the baseball cap was the real deal.

“Fuck you, Mac. Stop eavesdropping on me,” Bullseye snarled, leaning in close and getting in his personal space.

“Like I needed to. Osborn told me to wait here for you. So we off?” Mac asked with a casual shrug. Bullseye eyed him, his face openly displaying exactly how excited he was by the prospect.

“You on your drugs?” he asked bluntly.

“Why you gotta be like that, man? I haven’t done nothing,” Mac gripped.

“You tried to eat me,” Bullseye bristled and shoved his finger in Mac’s face.

“I told you, that wasn’t me! Get that off my face before—” Mac said, tired of the same old accusations.

“Before you what, Gargan? Try to eat me again?” Bullseye interrupted and prodded him in the chest. 

“Aww shit, man! Just leave it. Let’s go get drunk or sumthin’; there’s a game on. Yanks are playing,” Mac groused and shoved his hands down the pockets of his jacket, looking down and away from Bullseye.

“—you’re picking the tab,” Bullseye said gruffly, not actually minding catching a game. Especially not if it was the Bombers playing - though he hadn’t pegged Mac for a fan. Then again, hating on the Yanks was nearly as fun as liking them.

 

Later that day, and several beers later, Bullseye and Mac were shouting at a TV screen in a bar somewhere. By the time the game ended - Bullseye was pretty sure they won - they were both drunk and feeling far more comfortable with the enforced leave.

Patting Mac on the back and laughing, Bullseye stumbled off to the restroom. He was a bit uncoordinated but managed to keep his balance by having on hand on the wall above the urinal as he took a leak. Which might have contributed to why he didn’t notice the three guys who had walked in with him, and looked decidedly pissed off at him when he finally looked up.

“Hey, bro— Hey, asshole!” one of the men started and cracked his knuckles; he was built like a linebacker with the type of feel that just screamed ‘I just got out of the Raft on probation’.

They did not look like Yankees fans.

“Hey yourself, bro,” Bullseye said, completely unconcerned by the fact that he was standing there with his dick out and drunk off his ass.

“Think you’re fuckin’ funny, asshole?” The second guy chimed in, a Hispanic with more tats than skin. The third man was trying to do the tall, dark and intimidating schtick, though he looked more like he was constipated.

“What you clowns want? Stand-up comedy or to suck my cock?” Bullseye asked and flashed them his dick.

“Motherfucker - Imma fuck you up, bro!” Linebacker Bro shouted.

“Don’t think so, bro, ” Bullseye said and grinned at the shape behind the trio. Mac was in full Venom mode, all teeth, tongue, and hulking muscle, and by the looks of it he had the post-game munchies. The two morons who stood closer to him got a humongous clawed hand over the heads and fucking lost it as Venom’s claws sunk into their flesh and lifted them straight of the floor.

Linebacker Bro turned to stare as his friends started to scream and gaped in silent horror as Venom broke their necks with a flick of his wrist and then crushed their heads like ripe melons. He fell to the floor and scrambled away from Venom, unfortunately right to where Bullseye was.

“Hi ya,” Bullseye greeted happily, “now you were sayin’—?”

“Oh shit, oh shit!” Linebacker Bro gibbered.

“Nah. Don’t worry, Mac here won’t eat ya. Will ya, Mac?” Bullseye asked and winked at Venom, who was hissing and advancing on the both of them over the bodies of the two dead men. “Mac’s a real softy — and a picky eater.”

“Now, you see, what you should worry about is me,” he said and took a switchblade-knife from his pocket. Bullseye crouched by the terrified man, who was staring at him with confused horror. He had very big eyes, a very bright shade of green. Bullseye went for the left one. For a moment Linebacker Bro remained seated and confused before he slumped dead on the restroom floor. Bullseye chuckled and stumbled to his feet, pulling the knife free as he went.

“Good timing, Mac, though I could have handled my own.” Bullseye grinned at his nominal friend who was once more looking human. He didn’t have a single speck of blood or gore on him even though his half of the restroom was covered in the stuff. And Bullseye was pretty sure that was pieces of brain stuck to his own sneakers. Must be some symbiote trick. No-stick surface or some shit. Well, it did solve the problem of washing up.

“Whatever— s’cool,” Mac said, while, for some reason, avoiding looking directly at him.

“Aww, man, don’t be a pussy. This is fun,” Bullseye insisted and sauntered up to him, slinging one arm around him — Mac cringed and flushed at the contact.

“—-um, yeah. You should… zip up,” Mac mumbled and coughed.

“Huh? Well, would you look at that,” Bullseye said looking down at his unzipped fly and half-erect dick. Killing people was just that fun.

“What, man? You got a problem?” he asked with a toothy grin and cornered Mac against the wall, pressing his own body against him. Mac was actually noticeably shorter and skinnier than him — years spent as Venom’s host had atrophied muscle and made him loose body fat.

“I ain’t got no problem. Lay it off, Bulls,” Mac whined and did that puppy dog look he did.

“I do. I’ve been stuck with you all day, my turn to have some fun,” Bullseye murmured and breathed in the smell of blood.

He wasn’t sure if it was the blood or the drink that finally did it, but suddenly he felt like doing something, anything, to make the feeling in his head go away. Pressing his lips against Mac’s felt like a good idea at the time. Mac tasted of beer and cigarettes, dry and bitter, but Bullseye liked the way he cowered and stared. Big bad Venom was scared shitless of him. It felt good.

Bullseye grabbed Mac by the wrist and put his hand on his cock, laughing at his shocked face and urged him with a shift of his hips to jack him off. Mac’s hands shook as he started to jerk him and he stared down at them with a tense wide-eyed look. Bullseye hummed happily and thrust into his hands, settling his hands on each side of Mac’s head and breathing down his ear. It felt good to have Mac pressed against him and trapped by his height and girth. Biting down on Mac’s ear and the pained whimper that left the other man are what do it for him, and he blows his load in Mac’s hands. Stilling and groaning loudly, he grinned lazily and clapped Mac on the cheek.

“I feel like another drink. Let’s blow,” Bullseye said and broke off, tucking himself back in and zipping up. Quickly and carelessly, he washed his hands off and walked off into the pub and out on the street. Mac hurried after him, furtively looking out for if anyone was paying them any attention.

“C’mon, I know this place in my old neighborhood that does the world’s best pizza,” Bullseye cheered and grabbed Mac by the shoulders, steering him in the general direction of the Bronx.

“Do we have a problem, Mac?” Bullseye repeated as Mac got silent and particularly squirrelly.

“No, Bulls. No problem,” Mac gulped and let himself be lead along the street.

“Great! Fuck yeah, tonight’s turning out to be a great night!” Bullseye whooped and shook him. Mac smiled a shaky smile and trotted along.

 

“You did what?” Norman growled at his two Avengers; Bullseye was obviously still hungover and Gargan looked green.

“Just want you wanted, Normie. We were outta your,” Bullseye coughed, ”hair for twelve hours, give or take.”

“Twenty-six dead. Spread all across New York City. Twenty-six dead in less than twelve hours. Seventeen who were missing body-parts,” Norman gritted as if it took all of his control to pronounce the words.

“Twenty-eight. Two are in the Brooklyn River,” Bullseye added happily.

“Two months pay docked and no going anywhere until I give you permission. Now, get out. Get out, before I decide that you are more bother than your worth,” Osborn fumed and pointed at the door. Bullseye and Mac ambled out, calmly.

“That went well. Next time the beers on me, yeah?” Bullseye offered with a grin, patted Mac on the back and jogged off to pick a fight with Daken.

Mac stood there in front of Norman’s office for a long while and tried to decide whether or not he ever wanted another night out with Bullseye. The symbiote shivered happily on his skin and he glared at it. He was outvoted on the issue.


	4. Freudian Issues (Bullseye/Daken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye finally feels a different kind of release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentioned child abuse, spousal abuse, gorn, profanity, graphic sex (oral&anal), sadomasochism, dub-con, craziness.

It’s said that the stench of burning human flesh was the worst thing you’d ever smell. Bullseye disagreed. It smells like victory. Even when the stench was strong enough to taste - putrid, sweet and steaky - it never for a moment evoked anything in him but the feeling of release. Release from a life-time of burn scars, bruises, cuts and broken bones. Release from memories and fears, not that he hadn’t managed well enough as it was, but there was something particularly liberating in the knowledge that the old man was certainly deceased. Patricide was far too underrated as a therapeutic tool.

Besides it was a matter of principle. He couldn’t very well have let him live now could he? Especially, since he had tried to kill him. Again. It would have ruined his reputation.

If he could have, Bullseye would have killed his mother too - he’d hated her. He had lied when he said he’d killed her in high-school; the old man had gotten there first. She had bled to death on the kitchen floor from internal injuries. In hindsight, Bullseye presumed that it had been a combination of a ruptured lung and blunt force trauma to the liver and spleen from his old man kicking her. It had been drawn out. He remembered her blond hair spread out and sticky with blood. Her face swollen and purple with bruises and her fingers - the nails broken and chewed to the flesh - twitching vainly against the linoleum. Her pale lips broken with small bubbles of blood forming and popping between them as she soundlessly had tried to shape her last words. He could still recall the look in her eyes before the lights went out in them; staring at him with blame and horror. He had stayed with her until the end, not because of sentimentality but fear of moving. He’d left her eyes open. They had been the same shade of blue as his. Now, he stayed with his father until he died. It was all very apt.

"Third time’s the charm," Bullseye told himself and grinned at the dying fire and the wreck of the aircraft. His father’s corpse was indistinguishable from the remains of melted metal and plastics. He leaned his arms on his knees, closed his eyes and breathed in the putrid and chemical stink like an expensive perfume. It was better than he could have imagined. The moon hung heavy in the sky; seemingly close enough to touch, and the chill of the night as finally becoming noticeable as the fire died down. Bullseye toed the ground with his booted foot, drawing a smiley face and humming to a tune he didn’t quite remember. He didn’t mind waiting for his ride. The company was pleasant.

He should have done this earlier and seen it through all the way. He didn’t blame himself for the first failed attempt at patricide; he’d been a kid then but the second one? Yeah, that one shouldn’t have gone wrong. But he’d fixed things now; he paid back with interest even.

Pity about the lack of s’mores though, the fire would have been perfect for it.

Bullseye didn’t quite understand why it had to be fire. He wasn’t an arsonist, in fact it was usually his last choice of murder weapon since it didn’t feel visceral enough, like a knife; or controlled and requiring skill, like a sniper shot. But with the old man it just had to be fire; it always had to have been fire when it came to his father. He just wanted to erase him from existence all special, and now he had finally done it. It felt euphoric.

The noise behind him - a crackle and the vague feeling of a human presence - appeared suddenly and deliberately. Bullseye could name a handful of people who could pull of that trick, but his bet was on one in particular. His ride had come.

"I could kill yours for you as well," Bullseye remarked, eyes still fixed on the wreckage and his mind still focused on the stench of his father’s barbecued corpse. Briefly, he wondered how long it would linger. If he’d ever forget it. He hoped not.

"I prefer to save that one for myself," Daken replied snidely and stood next to him, glancing down at the log that Bullseye was sitting on with distaste. He was, surprisingly enough, in his civilian clothes even though he was, unofficially speaking, on a mission. It was strictly against Osborn’s orders. Not that Bullseye cared; he liked doing his own moonlight jaunts out of his clownish get-up as well.

"You’re pretty lousy at getting it done. Sure you don’t need the hand? I have two," Bullseye offered half-serious, feeling gregarious, waving his hands demonstratively.

"I’m certain," Daken sneered sounding twice as prissy as usual. Oh well, patricide was a personal affair. Though it’d be a bit of a shame with Daken and his old man; Wolverine was badass. Bullseye could appreciate that.

"Ah well, best keep it in the family," Bullseye conceded with a toothy grin and smiled at the wreck. "And before you ask, yes. Yes, it made me feel better. Pops had it coming for some thirty years. Just took me until now to make it stick. Tenacious fucker."

"How Freudian. Now tell me about your mother," Daken drawled; his pose bored, with his hips jutting in a far too feminine way. Prissy fuck moved, as well as dressed, like a model, striking a pose every time he wasn’t moving even if no one was watching. Not that you couldn’t noticed that he was a fighter. It was just that he looked like he was expecting a camera to turn up at any given moment. That kind of attention-whoring took engineering.

"Cute. Not even you can ruin this for me, princess. So talk smack for all you’re worth and project your own daddy issues on me. I’m fucking to happy to care,” Bullseye countered with a chuckle, and it was true. The euphoria and the contentment lay on him like a blanket and he figured that this was the best he’d felt since he killed Elektra. Daken tossed his head irritably and sulked, his facial expressions nearly comically exaggerated.

"Be careful, dude, you might actually pull something there," Bullseye quipped. He had never thought about that before but Daken - when he actually did react beyond his smug grin - usually went overboard, like he’d never really used his face to express anything. Bullseye saw himself as a cheerful, his heart-on-his-sleeve – or at least someone’s heart - kind of guy. He had never had any issues expressing himself, though usually through live performance art-murder. Daken on the other hand sucked at it, as was exemplified by the ugly glare he was currently making.

"It will stick like that if you keep making that face. It’ll make you look far less pretty, princess. And we both know that your looks is the only thing you’ve got going for you,” Bullseye added with a grin, the opportunity to annoy his team mate to perfect to pass by. The effect was instantaneous. Daken’s expression morphed into the same superior blandness as before and Bullseye could nearly taste the violence in his body.

"And we both know you like looking,” Daken smirked, hiding the violence with the same old gay chicken shit.

"I’m not the one who has spent his life compensating for that daddy was never there by acting like a whore in a cry for attention. So sue me if I indulge you," Bullseye retorted, more amused than pissed off by Daken.

"As opposed to five flavors of crazy and chemical dependency? Oh, should I mention the fact you can’t get it up unless the chick is dying because Daddy touched you inappropriately and Mommy never cared?" Daken said, his voice slick like an oil spill and that disgusting smile on his face.

Bullseye stood up abruptly and he could feel the burning, roaring rage grow through the lingering pleasure. However, the air stank of fire and burning flesh, a physical reminder of what he had accomplished — the rage paled in comparison. The heat of rage settled into something more languid, and he relaxed, laughing a little.

"Want me to prove you wrong that last one? Right here, right now, princess?” Bullseye offered, facing Daken — it was worth it, if just for the look on Daken’s face. It was as if he’d been hit over the head then thrown into a lake. By a twelve year old girl still in pig-tails. Gotcha, you hadn’t seen that one coming, you slick bastard.

"What, darlin’, cat got your tongue? C’mon, we both know you love the attention,” Bullseye taunted and moved closer, close enough to feel Daken’s warm breath on his skin. The mutant was still too shocked to say anything, and he savored the confused look on his face — the vulnerability of it, its pure nakedness. The noises from the woods around them felt loud and strange, yet Bullseye once more felt content. The warmth of the fire still played along his back and the stench of putrefaction still lingered fresh in his mind. He felt like he could do anything; Daken was nothing in comparison.

”Try me,” Daken spat once he recovered and tried to smile in his usual disdainful manner, resting his hand on his hip; daring Bullseye to act.

Bullseye dared.

Their first kiss hardly deserved the moniker; it was a clash of teeth and lips that tasted of blood and burnt flesh. Bullseye sucked and bit at Daken’s lower lip, worrying it and forcing a whine out of the feral mutant. He licked at sharp teeth, and tangled their tongues. Daken moved with him as much as against him, exciting him with the promise of violence as much as with sex. Bullseye forced him down on his knees; his eyes were defiant and lustful. Daken willingly opened his mouth, swollen pink lips parting alluringly, as Bullseye pulled out his cock. Daken licked along his length, suckling at the head and then taking him deeper in his mouth. A deft tongue worried and licked the underside of his shaft, making him harden with each skilled movement and filling Daken’s mouth obscenely. Bullseye leaned into the sensations languidly, enjoying warmth at his back nearly as much as the wet heat of Daken’s mouth around his cock.

However, he didn’t trust Daken to refrain from biting him, his grip never left Daken’s hair. One hand firmly setting the pace and the other caressing his face and muscular neck as the other man bobbed back and forth on his cock. The longer it continued the more it felt like ecstasy, and Bullseye found himself shuddering and gasping more than once at something that Daken had done. The feral mutant, in turn, gazed at him with satisfaction from under hooded eyes, lips stretching around his girth and face flushing, coloring those prominent cheekbones pink. Not wanting for everything to end with him coming in Daken’s mouth, which was a tempting idea since the mutant sucked cock like damn professional, Bullseye gripped Daken’s hair tighter and pulled him off. Daken released him with a wet pop and licked the saliva from his swollen lips with the flash of a pink tongue, his breathing heavy. Bullseye thought he looked great like this and couldn’t keep himself from staring. For a while he thought that Daken would come with some smartass commentary but the mutant remained uncharacteristically silent, waiting.

"Turn around," Bullseye ordered after a few moments, his voice rough and breathless, and released his grip on Daken’s hair. Daken gave him his customary shit-eating grin and Bullseye understood that the feral mutant had no intention of making this any easier on his behalf. It was all a game of dare for Daken. Bullseye manhandled Daken onto the ground, who in turn both squirmed against him enticingly as well as fought; his ass rubbing against Bullseye’s cock and his elbow hitting him over his sternum, forcing the air out of him. Annoyed at this unwanted struggling, Bullseye grabbed Daken by the hair once more and violently smashed his head against the ground. The mutant grunted and seemed dazed, blood seeping from a head wound, clotting to his hair.

Bullseye aligned himself against Daken’s prone form, half straddling him, and unbuckled Daken’s leather belt and tugged down his soft gray designer slacks - Daken wore no underwear. Daken gave no resistance, merely hissing a bit as the cold air touched his bare skin. Bullseye spat in his hand and slicked himself up and, not particularly caring for Daken’s comfort, pressed the head against Daken’s opening. At first his cock just gild along the crack of the other man’s firm buttocks, but Bullseye managed to enter him.

Groaning, Daken pressed back against him, and together they managed to fit Bullseye’s cock all the way in, buried ball’s deep in Daken’s tight ass. Panting from the sensation, Bullseye remained still as the mutant adjusted, seemingly enjoying the sensation of having his ass filled with cock. Bullseye knew that he enjoyed doing it; it somehow managed to be at least as good as Daken’s mouth despite the lack of wetness.

It was Daken who moved first, pressing back against him and squirming impatiently. Evidently, his unwillingness to participate wasn’t greater than his need for it to continue. Bullseye nearly pulled out completely and then thrust roughly into him to settle him, pressing Daken against the ground. Daken grunted and growled, but his struggling subsided, his fingers clawed at the dirt to brace him against the thrusts. He chuckled and set a hard pace, shifting his weight on top of Daken’s body to keep him down for no other reason than that he enjoyed feeling the other man under him; dominating him. It was a thrill to feel Daken yield beneath him, never quite submitting completely, with strength and violence lying coiled in his muscles and movements. His strong back and thighs trembling at their combined weight to keep him from being completely pressed to the cold ground.

Bullseye thrust into him wantonly, his hands wandering Daken’s half-clothed body and his teeth sinking down on the naked flesh at the junction of his neck and shoulder. He tasted blood once more and the coppery taste was nearly enough to kill the memory of burning flesh. Daken moaned and scrambled under his touch, one of his hands shifting beneath their bodies to his own cock, trying to set some kind of a pace to Bullseye’s increasingly erratic movements. In a frenzy of movements, Bullseye dragged Daken up by the hips and pulled as much as thrust into him. Daken screamed and tried to settle his weight on his arms, bracing himself once more however inexpertly. Each thrust had mutant moaning and crying incoherently, his face set in a wild grin and eyes barely keeping open.

Not too long after, Bullseye could feel Daken come — his entire body tightening impossibly and shaking with exhaustion. Bullseye chuckled and continued to fuck him regardless, Daken’s moans and cries becoming more pained and whimpering, his body tight and taunt beneath and around him. Bullseye enjoyed his pain, the sounds he made and the way he was becoming aroused again. Fucking Daken was like a fucking chick; he’d keep on coming as long as you kept on sticking it to him. It was awesome. The sensation of Daken’s second orgasm was too much for Bullseye and he came buried deep inside him, gripping Daken’s hips like a lifeline, his brain exploding behind his eyes. Bullseye groaned and swayed as he emptied himself into the dazed and post-coital mutant, finally coming crashing down on top of him like dead weight. He kissed and bit at Daken’s neck and throat, satisfied and feeling utterly brain dead in the best possible way.

The air felt cool against his back, the fire behind them dying down, and the night seemed much darker, and its noises more subdued. As clarity returned, Bullseye rolled off Daken, settling lazily by his side and tucking himself back into his pants after wiping off on Daken’s shirt. With a deep breath he sat up and rolled his shoulders, staring into the embers and smoking pyre of the wreck. Bullseye glanced at Daken who was lying on the ground; his hair is sticking to his skull with his blood. His mouth is bloodied from where skin had broken and not yet healed. His hands twitch and scape at the ground and his lips move soundlessly, his breathing labored. Daken looked back at him; his gray eyes wide and and unfocused. There was so much emotion in his face Bullseye didn’t understand. It didn’t last long and the mutant collected himself under his gaze - his face shutting off once more.

"Ready to go now? Norman will throw a fit,” Bullseye muttered, breaking whatever moment they had, and turned his gaze back at the dying fire. Daken pulled himself up into a half-sitting pose, he was a disheveled mess but - like always - he made it look good.

"Let’s go," Daken acknowledged flatly, unsteadily picked himself off the ground, and pulled his pants back up and buckling his belt. He left his shirt hanging on the outside but re-buttoned the buttons that had opened and readjusted it over his shoulders. There was still a bite mark visible on his neck, right along the tattoo. It wouldn’t last. Nothing did.

”What? Not as much fun as you had hoped, princess?” Bullseye blurted after the silence stretched into awkwardness — insulted by Daken’s lacking response. Daken merely gave him another flat stare, his body settling on another casually attractive model pose. Bullseye rose with a sneer and grabbed him by the arm, angered. Daken snarled and pulled back, but did not put up a greater fight.

"What’s got your panties in a bunch? You fucking offered,” Bullseye hissed and this time he got a reaction; it was the same sulky face as earlier, all bunched up and childish. Somehow this made sense to Bullseye - he had no idea why but it did. He pulled Daken close, not quite hugging the feral mutant but close enough.

"I told you, that makes you look less pretty. If you want me to kiss it better, ask," he admonished and nipped at Daken’s lower lip. The distrust and disdain in Daken’s eyes was immediate but this time Bullseye just rolled his eyes and gave him a kiss anyway. It was nearly gentle; just soft press of lips and a little lick of tongue to wash away the blood.

"Next time, don’t play games with me if you can’t keep up; tell me when you want to be fucked all sweet and be kissed and cuddled with, princess. I can do that — if you blow me first. But hey, it wasn’t all bad. It’s not always a guy gets to give him old the middle finger one last time by fucking at his funeral pyre,” Bullseye quipped and gave the shapeless pile of scrap-metal a little wave.

Daken made another ridiculous face and untangled himself from his grip, seemingly confused and angered by his own actions. Bullseye didn’t even try to understand what was going on in the feral mutant’s head. For a moment it looked like Daken was going to fight him but then he just… stopped.

"We’re leaving now,” Daken finally announced, having gathered his composure, and turned to leave.

Bullseye shook his head and followed him into the woods, certain that Daken could find his way perfectly in the dark. A lazy grin adorned his face as he realized that he had won their little game. A short while later, he burst into laughter and decided that life was pretty damn good.


	5. Damage Control (Norman/Daken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to tell who’s in charge but Norman is paying for the bills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: bdsm, strangulation, dub-con

Norman stood in his office and poured himself a scotch. His hands did not shake. His back was straight. But he could not control the tension in his shoulders nor could he quite keep himself from scowling. He had received the notice from miss Hand less than ten minutes ago. She’d known for longer, run interference and tried to control the flow of information best as she and her team could. Regardless it had ended up on his desk. Again. What was the point of being in charge if you had to deal with every god damn thing yourself?

There was no knock on his door but neither did the intruder attempt to hide his presence; Norman didn’t acknowledge his presence. He knocked back his drink, put away the empty glass and straightened his tie, tugging at the knot, even though there was nothing wrong with it. Let him wait. Let him stew and wonder - grow scared and blurt out excuses. To Norman’s annoyance his guest was patient.

“Tell me what happened,” Norman ordered, breaking the silence, pouring himself another drink to settle his nerves.

“Insufficient intel. That and Mac is a moron,” Daken purred, completely at ease and sounding far too self-satisfied for Norman’s tastes.

“I see.” He paused once more, waiting to see if Daken would explain himself. Daken wasn’t any more forthcoming, taking after his far less verbose father for once. ”I left you in charge of this mission so that you could prove yourself capable - to live up to your own boasts of competence. I see that I was sorely misinformed,” Norman said, turning to face the mutant with a mocking sneer. Daken was still in his Wolverine costume, covered in dust, blood and filth. Yet he made it seem deliberate and a statement of his heroism. Norman set aside his glass on his desk, and deliberately did not clench his fists.

“The only misinformation here is the one you handed us. I prevented a massacre,” Daken replied breezily, as if the public humiliation of his Avengers was not enough of a catastrophe.

“Live television, Daken. You let it air on LIVE television!” Norman growled, finally losing his temper, “Millions of people witnessed MY Avengers trash several city blocks, endanger civilians and FAIL to apprehend the criminals they were sent to deal with! Do you know how much this is going to cost me? The property damage alone is estimated at 40 billion dollars. And that’s a rough and early estimate, discounting any legal fees or personal claims!”

“Spin it. Make it a show of how “evil” these guys are and the need for more national security,” Daken replied casually, enraging Norman further.

“Don’t you think that’s being done as we speak? Do not presume to give me counsel, Daken. I want results. I want you to do as you are told. I want someone’s head on a platter for this disaster,” Norman said, his voice promising murder. He was certain that Daken had played a hand in making the disaster on the field even worse. The narrative had been too controlled and clear: implicating Daken as the hero of the situation and Norman as the incompetent management.

“Don’t I do as I am told, Norman?” Daken purred, “I did exactly what you told me to, did I not? What can I do when what you tell me to do has little or no relevance with reality?”

“Shut your mouth, boy. I will have you made an example of what happens when you test me,” Norman growled, grabbing Daken by the throat and pressing down. Daken grinned, licked his teeth and shifted his body in a lewd manner.

“C’mon, you know you want to,” Daken goaded, Norman bristled and flushed with anger.

“Insolent little bitch!” Norman cried out and shoved Daken against a wall, still strangling him. The mutant did not fight him but neither did he submit, instead Daken made it seem like he was enjoying himself.

“I own you,” Norman hissed in his face,” you are to show me proper respect.” He pressed down on Daken, tightening his hold as well as pushing their bodies closer. He could feel heat puddle in his groin, but then everything seemed to run hot. He was boiling over and Daken was the focus of his ire.

“Make me,” Daken gasped, wide eyed and joyous. Norman snarled and shifted his grip on Daken’s throat to one-handed, the other punching him in the gut. Daken tried to cry out but didn’t have the air, instead all he managed to do was to clutch Norman’s arm. It didn’t even strike Norman to fear the mutant or any serious retaliation. The foolish boy would keep him claws to himself if he knew what was good for him.

“I’ll teach you respect,” Norman gritted out, lifting Daken off his feet by his throat. With his free hand, Norman undid his belt and unzipped himself, pulling out his hard cock. It was easy to rip off Daken’s costume, baring a well sculpted body - not that his costume had hidden much - and nearly perfectly smooth flesh. Norman didn’t waste time to admire Daken’s dedication to personal grooming and grabbed him by one muscular thigh, lifting him higher and taking off some the strain off his throat. Daken coughed and choked, drawing in an involuntarily desperate breath but cooperated without any struggle. Norman arranged himself at his hole and forced himself inside the mutant with a brutal thrust and by letting him sink down on him. He groaned at the sensation. Daken was hot and tight, his mutation making him virginal in sensation despite how much of a whore he was, which more than made up for the dry entry. Norman generally preferred women, but this wasn’t just about sex. This was about reminding the little brat who was in charge. He set a punishing pace and Daken clung to him, gasping and whining.

“Remember you place, Daken,” Norman grunted at him, “I’m your superior. I’m your master. I’m your god.” He punctuated each statement with brutal thrusts. Norman smelled as much as felt Daken bleed and it felt good. The mutant writhed in his grip, eyes rolled back and his mouth open, with his hard cock bobbing against their stomachs.

“You hear me? You understand?” he continued, mildly annoyed with the mutant’s open and excessive display of pleasure at what was supposed to be a punitive exercise. He temporarily eased his grip on Daken’s throat to allow him to answer.

“Yes, I hear you, sir,” the mutant gasped and then moaned loudly, rolling his hips in an aggravatingly pleasurable manner. It wasn’t a proper agreement nor admission of submission, but Norman doubted that he would get much better out of the boy without escalating this into something far messier. It would be murder to clean his suit as it was. Breaking in Daken would have to be a long term project; he had time. The “sir” was enough for now.

“That will have to do,” Norman acquiesced, settling in for a finishing pace - jack-hammering Daken’s ass and choking him into unconsciousness. Norman enjoyed the wet-hot tightness, and Daken’s spasming strong muscle clutching him as the mutant spilled his come over himself. He sneered at the perversion and lewdness of Daken’s body and tastes, the mutant had no control over himself nor any shame. Doubtlessly, he’d get off on anything that Norman could think of doing to him - no matter how brutal. It was distasteful. Norman came quietly, his rage disappearing with his orgasm - his body finally relaxing. He stayed buried in the mutant for a while longer, waiting out the last moments of pleasure. Daken had lost consciousness: his eyes were rolled back in his skull, hands slack, his breathing arrested, but his heart still beat strong and come covered his belly.

Satisfied, Norman slipped out of him and released his grip, allowing Daken to slump down along the wall. As Norman wiped himself off on a handkerchief, tucked himself back in his dress pants and surveyed the extent of the damage on the cloth, Daken woke up coughing and wheezing. The damage was limited to some blood and better-left-unnamed stains around the fly but it would need dry-cleaning. He’d get his secretary to get him a new pair. Daken, on the other hand, looked worse for wear: his costume ruined, baring his groin and ample amounts of his thighs; his skin was striped in dirt, come and blood; and his throat was bruised a purple-red.The latter-most would not last long, Norman made a point to enjoy the sight of it.

“Redeem yourself, Daken. I’m giving you that opportunity, be grateful of my generosity,” he stated, getting his glass of scotch and taking a sip, observing his disheveled Avenger struggle with standing up. Norman found satisfaction in that.

“Your generosity is noted,” Daken wheezed and gave him a dirty smile, “and much obliged. I’ll make sure to repay you for each kindness.”

“Get out,” Norman spat, having no patience for Daken’s games nor his implied and toothless threats.

“As you wish,” Daken said with a mocking bow, and seemingly unconcerned and undaunted by his nudity and soiled state left Norman’s office.

With a sneer Norman knocked back his drink and told his secretary to get him a new suit over the intercom. One day Daken would outlive his usefulness and Norman would personally put an end to his infuriating intriguing. But not today.

Today, he would have to address the press and convince the public that his Avengers were their heroes and that property damage was a small price to pay for national security. Domestic terrorism needed to be addressed and fought with extreme prejudice. No pardon to those that threaten our Nation and so forth. God bless America.

God bless Norman Osborn.


	6. Late Night Snack (Venom/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends with benefits don’t count, neither do tentacle monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: tentacles, anal play, blow job, prostitution, cannibalism, gore, death, gay panic

It was Bullseye’s job to be Mac’s keeper when he went out without explicit permission to go solo. Usually, it’s a job that Bullseye doesn’t mind horribly; they go to bars, strip clubs, and red-light districts and Venom has a light snack. At worst it was boring. Bullseye doesn’t care for whores or strippers. Paying for sex isn’t his style and it loses its charm real quick when there are other options. He’d rather kill those sluts than fuck them. The noises they make are real when he does that. Mac, on the other hand, fucking loves them. Fuck or eat, he just doesn’t seem to get enough.

Mac was buying one at the very moment; a little bitch with a bright red wig, a leopard print dress, and a big pair of tits. That was the second one tonight. The first one was currently being digested.

“Fuck it, Mac. Just get it over with,” Bullseye sneered, kicking at the ground. They were standing in some back alley to do business before moving elsewhere or, depending on how hungry Venom was, staying right there if only for a little while. Venom didn’t leave scraps when it was hungry.

“Oh, shut it,” Mac spat back without missing a beat, “Go get drunk or some shit.”

“Friends are extra,” the whore said and glanced at him.

“No one talked to you,” Bullseye snapped at her.

“Don’t mind him. It’s just me. Here,” Mac said and handed her a wad of cash. It was not like he wouldn’t get it back, he could afford to be generous.

“Yeah, that’s good, baby,” the whore replied with a smile. Bullseye rolled his eyes and checked his phone. Not much past midnight and he was already bored out of his skull. He checked his messages and his email, nothing but spam and Norman’s usual BS memos. As Mac and the whore failed to move out from the alley, Bullseye resigned himself to a tedious wait until Venom was done with his late night snack. Leaning against the wall and looking pointedly outward to the intersecting street, nominally keeping guard, he tried to ignore the noises of preluding sex. Regardless, sounds filter through and he is torn between arousal and disgust.

“Fucking put a move on, Mac,” Bullseye grumbled.

“Take it easy, man,” Mac said, his voice already shifting to something slightly inhuman.

“I’ll take it easy when I kill you,” Bullseye retorted and glanced back at Mac; the whore was on her knees, sucking him off and Mac — well, Mac was half-way Venom. Black tendrils had shifted up his face and others were just kinda moving around him. His mouth was also distorted in an alien fashion — too wide, too big and his tongue still seemed to bulge in it. The whore had yet to notice any of this, her face buried in Mac’s crouch as it was. Bullseye grimaced, there was something just viscerally wrong in seeing the symbiont and its human host in this half-way state. Fucking sent chills down his spine. Mac was pathetic and lame, but Venom was a freaking monster. Bullseye could appreciate the latter.

“Fine,” Mac replied petulantly and the symbiont covered him fully. The whore gagged and spluttered as Venom grew and grabbed her by the back of her head with a huge clawed hand. Bullseye smiled a little at this and settled to watch the oncoming spectacle. Arousal rose in him as the whore started to scream, muffled by Venom’s girth, and he fought the urge to join in with a knife. Her blood has already been spilled and ran crimson down her dress. Her wig had fallen off. She was a brunette. Bullseye wanted to see how much more of her was fake and to cut it all off and then some. Without noticing it, he had wandered closer to get a better look. He didn’t notice how close until a tendril of the symbiont touched his leg.

“Fucking watch it!” Bullseye snarled while flinching back, trying to shake it off him.

“You don’t want her— then We will give you something—-” Venom hissed, and the tendril became a tentacle. “We are friendsss—- yesss? Relax—-”

“I don’t fucking want— oh fuck,” Bullseye yelped, clutching the wall for support. The tentacle had sneaked down his pants, coiling around his hard cock and jerking him off.

The whore screamed again, Bullseye watched Venom literally take a bite out of her; there was blood everywhere but he could see a bit of bone. It took him a moment to recognize the sound of the low groan as coming from him, as well as his lack of resistance to Venom’s continued ministrations of his cock and balls. The tentacles had freed him of his pants, which were now bunched up at his knees, and were a writhing black mass around his groin and thighs. He found himself moaning in consort with the screams of the whore and the wet crunching noises of Venom eating her alive. Bullseye was torn between staring at the bloodied whore and the sight of what was being done to him. It both terrified and aroused him horribly.

He protested weakly when slick tendrils probed at his ass but Venom paid him no heed, and moments later, Bullseye felt really fucking good. He lost his balance at the sensation, leaning all his weight on the wall and the tentacles, and tried desperately to control himself. To stop himself from fucking himself on the tentacles stuffed in his ass like cheap whore. To stop himself from screaming and moaning like some faggot slut. He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t Daken who fucking begged for cock with his every move. He wasn’t—

“—-fucking hell,” Bullseye whined, tasting blood. An arterial spray had just covered him, and half of the whore was hanging from Venom’s mouth. It was a gory mess and Bullseye wanted to both vomit and come at the sight of it. Tendrils were working his cock and it nearly felt like he had someone’s mouth on him. He couldn’t decide whether they actually felt warm or not, or even wet or not, but whatever it was it was playing havoc with his brain and he couldn’t think.

Giving up any attempt at coherent thought, Bullseye clutched the wall behind him, closing his eyes tightly, allowing Venom to jerk and fuck him. His ass felt like its on fire but it felt good, so fucking good, as tentacles filled him beyond what had thought possible and fucked him relentlessly. It was like nothing else he’d ever felt before and he wanted more. His cock felt impossibly hard, as if there was something in it, it felt like he was going to come at any moment, but each moment just dragged on and the pleasure just went on and on. It was torture.

Almost sobbing, Bullseye shifted his hips back and forth to try to finish it, riding and thrusting into the tentacles. He finally came with a shuddering moan; hard enough to splatter jizz on his own throat; hard enough to hurt. Bullseye nearly fell into a boneless heap on the ground when Venom released him, tendrils slipping out of his sore ass with a wet noise and crawling down his legs. He gasped for air, legs shaking and hands scraping along the brick wall. He feels empty, dirty and more sated than ever before in his life. Moments drift by, as he tried to get the world to stop spinning.

Eyes cast down, he pulled up his jeans - the muscles of his ass and thighs still shuddering - and zipped them up. He noticed that his hands are bloodied and it took him a moment to understand why. He’d been clutching the wall, clawing at it even, as Venom fu— the tentacles jerked him off. His gaze flickered back at the remnants of the whore and Venom, who was quickly becoming Mac again. Bullseye doesn’t want to look at him, he doesn’t want to acknowledge any of this. He wiped the blood and come off his face and throat with his sleeve. The dark green hoodie would hide most stains, or at least make them less conspicuous. Gritting his teeth, Bullseye composed himself.

“You made a fucking mess. Clean up here before we get the cops on our tail. We’re leaving,” he barked with the most authoritative voice he could manage in his current state.

“Awww, man. Can’t I get to do anything without you being a bitch—” Mac grumbled, a bit of Venom still clinging to him but none of the blood and gore that should have. Bullseye snarled and turned, grabbing him by the collar.

“What did you just call me? Call me that again and I’ll take a blowtorch to you, you got me?” he growled. For a moment Venom was back and hissed at him, but then Mac was there again with his soft face and even gooier insides, shitting himself at the thought of Bullseye really being pissed at him.

“I got it, I got it, man,” Mac whimpered in surrender, fretfully holding his, now human, hands up to placate him. Bullseye scoffed and let him go, happy that Mac was a fucking wimp and that Venom, at least nominally, was under his control.

As he stiffly walked away, he could hear Mac talking to himself.

“You’d think he’d have loosened up a bit after that, considering how bad he’s been aching for a fuck,” the idiot grumbled and Bullseye wanted to vomit again. He kept on moving only by sheer momentum. He nearly ran out in the street, pulling his hood deep over his face. A car almost hit him and people scuttle and bump into him as he pushed past them. He ignored Mac calling after him and disappeared into the crowd.

He should have fucking killed Mac, right there, right then. But then he’d have to deal with Norman and why he did it. And Daken would be there. He would smell it on him. Bullseye could already see the smile on that cock-sucking mouth of his. All teeth and full lips. He was shaking and furious, ashamed and disgusted by the thoughts running through his head — unwanted and unasked for. He wasn’t— He wasn’t like that. Bullseye tasted blood again and this time it was his own.

That night over a dozen people were reported brutally, and creatively, killed by the assassin Bullseye. The next day Norman docked his pay and scolded him about upholding a behavior befitting an Avenger. Bullseye suggested that he should get drunk in public then. He lost his drinking privileges for that remark.

Furthermore, in a completely unrelated incident, Mac woke up to a sonic explosion of unknown origin.


	7. Princess Bar (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daken gives Lester a chance just to trap him in deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marie Laforêt’s “Mon amour, mon ami” quoted and “Marie douceur, Marie colère” referenced.  
> Warnings: profanity, sex, violence, blood, d/s, s&m

Over the years, Daken had been a lot of things if only for a short time. He’d played the part of a whore. He’d pretended to be a preacher man. He’d conned his way through several professions — but never had he actually been anything other than a weapon, an instrument of death. Compared to the scum that crawled the Earth, he was godlike and he brought only death.

Consequently, it was strange to be something else for a change. He was a bar owner, legit. Princess Bar, Madripoor. It used to be his Dad’s, like so many other things in Daken’s life; crude hand-me-downs and empty spaces to fill — but now it was his. There was some satisfaction from taking what had been the old man’s and making something better out of it. A little base and bolthole, a legit excuse for his income and a good place to do some laundry - monetary or otherwise. Madripoor was nearly ridiculous in that manner, you could get away with so much and the crime rates were sky high — even with Tyger Tiger in charge and keeping a lid on things. Daken liked the place despite its filth and noise; Hightown was a good hunting ground for rich fools and the luxuries of life and you couldn’t lay lower than Lowtown.

There had been a lot to do in the beginning; the place had been a leaking, stinking hole with a clientèle that was worse. Daken didn’t mind criminals and the drunkards; but he did mind the ambiance of wretchedness and poverty. He’d had the whole place renovated and redone, from the pipes up to the new bar and furniture, not to mention the entertainment. He’d convinced a waif of a singer to attend the evenings with her melancholic Parisian voice. She, Nanette, had been enamored by him like they all were. Such large dark eyes and strong features on a body that resembled a child’s — she was a sweet thing and Daken knew that he had her on the palm of his hand. However, for all her frailness and dulcet voice she was uninteresting for anything other than the purpose Daken hired her for, to sing.

Someone else, who was much more remarkable than his official capacity hinted at, had already caught Daken’s interest. As Lowtown was the lowest you could get without plunging to hell and no criminals could be extradited from Madripoor, a certain someone hadn’t been too hard to convince. Lester had evidently had it tough in the States, died and come back crippled by - ultimately - the hand of the same man. Daken was more than happy to have his pet back. Daken leaned against the door post and watched Lester behind the bar. He was supposed to be his bartender - and sometimes bouncer - and wasn’t doing too bad of a job of it either. Yesterday had been the opening night and no one had been creatively killed by paper umbrellas or olives. Daken supposed that was a victory on his part.

“What you looking at?” Lester spat, defensive as always. Daken decided he’d have to do something about that. His poor little pet was always on edge around him even when he was being all needy.

“Really now, was that necessary? Relax, Lester,” Daken reassured him soothingly and sauntered over to the bar, hunching down low on it and looked up at his bartender and pet assassin.

“As fucking if, princess,” Lester snarled and went back to wiping the glasses with unnecessary vigor. He had taken to the habit of calling him that consistently after he had come to Madripoor and seen the name of the bar — laughed himself silly at it actually. But Daken had kept the name and now had to stand his nickname. He pontificated at length using his pheromones to ease Lester’s mind but decided on a different approach because the former had gotten far too easy. He’d entangled the other man in his web nearly a year back — all it took now was the slightest of triggers and he came apart.

“Won’t do anything you don’t ask me to,” Daken said seductively and grabbed a cocktail cheery, eating it slowly while keeping eye contact with Lester. He did not miss the sudden dilation of Lester’s pupils or the quickening of his heart. Little Lester wanted him so bad: he positively reeked of lust and that delicate little mix that spelled out love but alongside it was the fury and the jealousy. Lester wanted him in bed, dead and forever his. It was kind of sweet in a twisted way.

“I doubt that you understand the concept,” Lester replied derisively, set aside the glass and the rag and took the bowl of cherries from the bar. Daken opened his mouth expectantly, all pink tongue and sharp white teeth. Lester stared at him dazed and then guardedly fed him a cheery; Daken let his tongue lick his fingers as he accepted the offering. The slight flush high on Lester’s cheeks was glaringly obvious and he seemed to have forgotten himself completely, leaving his hand hanging frozen in the air. Daken took this as an opportunity and kissed the same spot he’d let his tongue graze. Lester pulled back his hand as if he’d been burnt.

“I could try,” Daken offered. Lester looked at him darkly; confused, suspicious and boiling back to fury once more. Daken knew that Lester hated how he reacted around him. The self-loathing was burning him alive so he directed it at him instead. Lester didn’t respect him, didn’t trust him. But he wanted to. Why not give him the chance?

“You’re bull-shitting,” Lester finally said, dismissing the offer. Daken cocked his head, as if considering things, and put on his most sincere face.

“No, I’m not. One night, no strings attached. I won’t do a thing you don’t ask for,” Daken repeated, wagering that his gambit might just be worth it even if it turned out to just be a night of torture. Lester was quiet. He looked at him and his face was impassive though his scent was a maelstrom that Daken couldn’t make heads or tails of other than lust. Such were the perils of playing games with someone as emotionally unstable as the infamous Bullseye.

“My rules?” Lester asked after several minutes. Daken stifled the wicked grin that wanted to spread over his face.

“Your rules,” Daken affirmed, it would gall him but it wouldn’t be the first time. He’d played nice before.

“No consequences?” Lester pressed cautiously.

“None whatsoever,” Daken said and, this time, he allowed himself a smile. Oh, there would be consequences, he was counting on it, but none like Lester was worrying about. He wouldn’t kick his pet out for playing rough or punish him for his blood thirst. It would be silly considering he’s been feeding that precious fury.

“What do you say? I am good for more than talk,” Daken asked and cocked his head once more, waiting. Lester met his eyes and stared him down, Daken didn’t even blink. Finally, Lester gave his response with a tight nod. Daken smiled and spun around, resting the small of his back against the bar.

“I’ll have Keerthi take your shift. I’ll be busy until around midnight, meet me in my rooms then,” Daken said and stalked away, he had business to attend before they opened the bar and people to meet. Besides, waiting would do little Lester good.

The day disappeared in a flurry of coffee meetings, paperwork, cajoling, bribing and hobnobbing with the local mob and, before long, Daken was back at the bar as the evening’s entertainment was starting. Nanette was singing Marie Laforêt, and the bar was crowded. Lester was behind the bar, making drinks and pouring pints expertly and sliding them along the bar. He looked good in his white shirt and black vest, Daken had picked them out personally, but he seemed miles away in thought. Doubtlessly, wondering if it was all a trap and if not what he would do.

After a quick change of clothes, Daken greeted the local profiles who had filed in, taking personal care to chat with Tyger Tiger’s more trusted agents. She hadn’t come yesterday to the opening or today but it wasn’t a problem - soon enough he’d have her in his pocket and he had the time to wait. Madripoor was unstable at best, gaining power here wouldn’t take long but keeping it was the trick. Which was why he took his time and built a base first. The situation with Lester was more or less the same.

It was late when Daken was done with his rounds and socializing — but he felt only excitement and satisfaction as he walked up the stairs to his apartment above the bar. He could still hear Nanette sing, her tone taking a rougher turn and Daken easily recognized the song on jealousy and infidelity that follows. He hummed along and remembered all the times married men and women have crawled into his bed — sometimes with only the slightest of convincing. Each step he took made his blood quicken a little bit more, Nanette’s now angry voice accompanying him with each. Daken was a bit surprised at the excitement he felt, then again it was a while ago that he put himself in the hands of another. Not knowing what Lester had in store for him thrilled him.

Daken opened his bedroom door and Lester stood up, looking at him both wary and lustful. He was still in his bartender’s dress; his pressed black dress pants, spotless shirt and vest. Daken walked up to him, stopping only inches from him and waited. Lester looked at him, surprised and expectant, his hands shook and he couldn’t seem to decide. Daken doesn’t, for once, decide for him. It was hesitantly that Lester grabbed him by the waist with one hand, the other rising even more warily to cup his face. The kiss that followed was neither hesitant nor wary, it’s passionate and angry. Daken allowed this and responded minimally; keeping his promise of doing nothing he wasn’t asked to. Lester seemed to grow more angered and pulled him close for another forceful kiss.

“Fucking kiss me, you’re not a fucking corpse,” he snarled as he let go of him. Daken smiled and obeyed, kissing Lester like he meant it. It was proving to be a bit more fun than he thought. Lester seemed to catch on a bit though as he barked out an order for him to strip next. Daken undressed, smiling still, uncovering his sculpted body garment by expensive garment. Lester stared but did not touch him, Daken wondered if Lester had expected his obedience at all or if he was just starting to get it.

“Undress me,” Lester said in a low and dark voice, quite clearly getting the name of the game. Daken smiled and unbuttoned the vest carefully; taking his sweet time and allowing Lester to get a very good view of him, then sliding the vest off Lester as sensuously as he could. He showed the same care to the shirt, button by button revealing scarred and firm flesh. Lester hadn’t yet gotten a tan from the hot Madripoor sun and his skin was lily white except for the flush he was wearing on his face. Evidently, Daken’s slow and precise ministrations were much appreciated if that and his thick scent were anything to go by.

“Kiss me,” Lester ordered hoarsely once more. Daken smiled and kissed Lester’s naked skin as he continued to undress him, taking a bit of a liberty with the order and bestowing slight licks and bites on him as well. Lester groaned and shivered, quite clearly barely holding back whatever course of action that he had in mind. Daken hid a grin and knelt on the floor gracefully, and started to deftly remove Lester’s shoes and socks. He could feel Lester’s eyes on him and smell the satisfaction Lester felt at seeing him on his knees and attending him. That expression shifted a bit when Daken started to undo his pants; he wasn’t surprised to find that Lester didn’t wear underwear and the scent strikes Daken tenfold. It’s a heavy and musky male scent, pleasant even. Lester’s cock was large and hard, bobbing slightly as Daken ignored it and pulled down Lester’s pants to his ankles. Lester stepped out of them quickly.

“Stay there.” Daken remained kneeling in front of him, waiting to see what kind of games his little pet had in mind.

“Blow me,” Lester ordered after several moments of just looking at him. Daken placed his hands on Lester’s hips, wet his lips and took him in his mouth with one experienced move – all while keeping his eyes upturned to Lester’s face. It was more than worth it for Lester’s reaction, his eyes opened impossibly wide and a choked gasp left him. Daken set a slow and deep pace, bobbing up and down on Lester’s cock, breathing steadily through his nose. He hummed, pleased, when Lester rested a hand on his head and toyed with his hair.

After a while, Lester seemed to settle with his disbelief and stop expecting Daken to turn the tables at any moment. His grip on Daken’s hair tightened and his other hand grabbed the back of his head, taking control of the pace. Lester fucked his mouth mercilessly and Daken hung on for the ride, choking but not giving any resistance, letting his hands fall to his side. He swallowed as Lester came in his mouth, coughing only slightly as Lester pulled out. Daken quickly let his face settle back into a smile, as he waited for Lester to collect himself. Nanette’s singing was still audible to Daken’s sensitive hearing and her choice of song nearly made him laugh. _Je n’ai pas connu d’autre garçon que toi. Si j’en ai connu je ne m’en souviens pas._

“On the bed,” Lester chocked and Daken lay down on the bed on his back, his movements betraying nothing.

“On your belly,” Lester specified. Daken rolled over languidly like a large feline, showing off his tattoo; the wings and the tail stretching along his back and shoulder.

“You know, I can’t believe this is happening even now, princess,” Lester said behind him and there was some noise. “I mean, you should have seen yourself. On your knees like that, with my cock in your mouth.” The noise stopped - Lester seemed to have found what he was looking for. “Never thought that you would. And that’s just warming up. I’m gonna make you scream, princess, and you’re just lying there looking pretty. Waiting for it,” Lester growled, his scent full of lust and blood thirst, and Daken felt the bed shift. The cold blade against his back wasn’t surprising, the kisses that followed it more so.

“Do you want me to do something else, mon amour, mon ami?” Daken asked for the first time since their game began, playfully referring to the song that only he could hear rising from down stairs. Lester stilled.

“Nah, this is good. Just don’t hold back, I want to hear you,” Lester finally replied and absentmindedly petted him along his back. Then he got to work. Daken did scream. Lester spent hours carving his back into what Daken suspected was a mix of words and precise slashes meant to cause maximum pain, throughout it all Daken could feel Lester’s hard-on press against him. It wasn’t his idea of a good time but tolerable and the obvious pleasure it brought Lester was intoxicating.

It wasn’t until Lester did something to his spine with that little knife of his that really hurt, even by Daken’s own fucked up standards, that his self-control broke and he… reacted. His claws unsheathed themselves from his arms and he clawed at the bed and the sheets, snarling and growling loudly while shaking in rage and pain. He was half a breath from turning and ripping Lester apart then and there but, at the last moment, he controlled himself. Lester, being no fool, had noticed and actually fled to the edge of the bed, knife in hand. Daken breathed heavily and snarled but did not lash out. He wanted to, he wanted to slit Lester’s throat, he wanted to fuck him until he bled and suffered with each movement while begging for more. However, he wasn’t an animal, he was in control.

Slowly, Lester came closer and Daken watched him from the corner of his eye, still not really feeling like himself. Everywhere was the scent of lust and blood, it was turning him on but he intended to keep his promise. He had more self control than this. Daken waited and Lester eventually regained confidence.

“You all there, princess?” Lester asked and reached out with a bloodied hand, caressing the side of his face carefully. It was an oddly sweet gesture from a man as sadistic as Lester; then again he had a bottomless pit of fear and pain in him that made him childlike on occasion. Daken growled low but without any real hostility, he could feel his flesh knit together again and clarity slowly returning, Lester pulled back his hand real quick.

“I’m guessing not. Don’t feel like pushing my luck either — despite you sounding and looking really fan-fucking-tastic like this,” Lester continued and set the knife aside demonstratively, watching him closely. Daken could smell his arousal still, how much he wanted him now that the bloodlust was satisfied. But the fear and the uncertainty were too strong; Daken’s reaction had freaked him.

“Still not morning,” Daken countered in a low voice, and Lester shivered and looked at him with such desire.

“Yeah, but I’m not certain you’ll keep it together, princess, and I like being in one piece,” Lester replied cagily.

“Tell me what you want,” Daken retorted and turned to face him, blood running down his sides to his already soaked silk sheets.

“I’m pretty much happy,” Lester replied and swallowed hard. Liar. Daken crawled over to him on all fours, dripping blood all the way, his smile settling on predatory. Lester’s eyes followed him intently with each step, his skin had goose bumps, blood and sweat ran down him. Fear and desire, it was an intoxicating mix.

“Tell me to kiss you,” Daken breathed into Lester’s ear, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Kiss me,” Lester repeated, pale blue eyes wide and heart beating like a drum. Daken leaned forward and kissed him, tasting blood, forcing Lester to respond with the same vigor as before.

“Tell me you want me,” Daken purred.

“I want you,” Lester moaned, his fingers ghosting over Daken’s chest, leaving bloody smears.

“You can have me,” Daken asserted in a quiet voice, nearly tender. Suitably encouraged, Lester kissed him again and pressed him down on the bloodied bed.

It was nearly awkward as Lester fucked him, blood their only lubricant, but it also felt visceral and satisfying. A good companion for all the blood and the pain, it appeased whatever beast Lester had awoken in him. In the end they were both smeared in blood, sweat and semen. The golden morning light painting a picture closer to a crime scene photo than a post-coital lovers’ tryst. Daken watched Lester sleep and wondered if his little game had paid off, if Lester would start viewing him with something other than distrust. He didn’t feel like repeating the whole business if it did him no good. Not that it had been completely displeasing. But Daken felt more at home in charge of a situation and little Lester seemed to fumble when he was. Daken would just have to find a way to feed his pet’s lust for blood.

Gracefully, his flesh and bones completely healed now, Daken sauntered to the shower and washed off the blood. When he came out of the shower Lester was still sleeping, so he got dressed in a very nice Brioni suit, though he left the tie off, and Armani leather shoes. With a pleasant smile on his face he walked down the stairs down to the club, seeing Keerthi tiding up from yesterday. She seemed troubled by something, fussing over the tables and moving jerkily.

“Good morning,” Daken greeted the Singaporean girl who startled and cried out in surprise.

“Mr. Daken! I’m sorry,” Keerthi said and bowed her head slightly.

“Is there something wrong, Keerthi?” Daken asked, quite aware that the direct question would bother the girl but not feeling up for the game of politeness that could easily ensue. Keerthi was silent and made some placating gestures, indicating that she’d rather not have the conversation. Daken merely raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

“I—I was wondering if you are well, Mr. Daken?” Keerthi asked, quite clearly disquieted.

“I am fine. Why? No wait, I can guess,” Daken replied as he realized what on earth the silly girl was jabbering about. “What did you hear, Keerthi?” he asked in a low and dark voice, looming over the girl.

“I- I heard nothing, Mr. Daken. I didn’t see Mr. Lester—“ Keerthi babbled and then covered her mouth with her hands in horror. She stared at him, frozen.

“Don’t worry, Keerthi. Everything is fine. I am fine. All you have to do is continue doing your job. You like your job, don’t you?” Daken continued in a lighter tone. Keerthi nodded timidly.

“Good girl, no need to think about things that bother you,” Daken finished cheerily and patted the girl on the head. Daken walked out of the bar, his bar, into the pale morning, a smile on his face.

He was coming to like Madripoor very much.


	8. PDA (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Public displays of affection and destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: D/s, possessiveness, destructive relationship, dubcon.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Bullseye growled and slammed Daken against the wall. In the background the dress-party continued, Norman had dragged them to some publicity event to sell his Avengers to the American idle rich, and the night was early. Society ladies, trust-fund babes and political animals moved in circles and admired each others’ deep cleavages and deeper wallets, desire and identity “hidden” behind half-masks.

“I would like to ask you the same. You’re ruining my suit,” Daken sneered, indicating his $35,000 Kiton three piece suit. Daken had been pleased to notice that his suit was among the more expensive and stylish ones at the event, matching his stylized Wolverine half-mask perfectly. Money didn’t guarantee taste but it made it much easier to achieve. 

“I’ll rip that damn thing off you if I want to - you seem to be whoring yourself out as it is,” Bullseye spat, tugging demonstratively on his lapels and at his matching $1000 necktie.

Daken had tried to get Bullseye to dress up and with some success he’d convinced the man to wear a bespoke suit but he’d discarded his tie the moment it had been tied around his neck, citing that he had no intention of hanging himself with a “goddamn noose”. The black and purple Hawkeye mask looked out of place without the matching necktie, at least he had kept the purple pocket square, Daken noted with some satisfaction.

“Fucking listen to me when I’m talking to you,” Bullseye shouted, garnering a few glances in their direction, angered by Daken’s distraction.

“I am listening. I just don’t care, sweetness,” Daken said with a purr, “now if you excuse me, I have a party to attend.”

“The fuck you are,” Bullseye hissed, glaring at anyone who looked at them, “you’re staying with me.”

“Then dance with me, darling,” Daken suggested, smirking knowingly, quite certain that Bullseye would resist any such open display of their relationship.

“Fine.” Daken’s eyebrows shot up high and he let himself be guided to the floor and spun around in his lover’s arms. Bullseye danced like it was a fight or a challenge, and anyone who got too close or looked at them twice was promptly glared into submission. Daken amused himself by both stealing kisses and letting his hands roam a bit lower than appropriate. Bullseye growled at him and flushed but held him close regardless. 

The dance ended and together they left the floor, Bullseye’s hand firmly planted at the small of his back. Daken grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter and smiled blithely at the conservative ladies and gentlemen who were giving them disapproving to scandalized glances. He could hear the low murmur of commentary at their - to use the mildest term he heard - “unorthodox” display. He could also scent the low grade arousal it had caused. In some cases from those who were the most offended. Hypocrisy, how refreshing. 

With a vapid smile and adoring gaze, Daken leaned on Bullseye just to rub it in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Norman fume underneath his own plastic political smile. Same-sex relationships were bad PR when it came to the conservative warmongers that Osborn relied on for his funding and support. Daken didn’t care in the least.

Bullseye’s grip on his waist was painful and unyielding, his scent was a maelstrom, and Daken realized that he might have pushed him a bit too far. Then again that was what he always did. He upheld his polite smile, greeting the people around him with even more vapid and polite nonsense.

Karla sauntered toward them, her eyes shining darkly under her Ms. Marvel themed mask. She was a knockout; her long legs in wrapped black stockings with just a hint of a garter under her little black dress as she moved, accented by her matching red heels, nails and lips.

“Naughty boys,” she greeted them with a dirty smile. Daken smiled back at her and pretended that Bullseye wasn’t clutching him and glaring murder.

“Not naughtier than you, don’t think I didn’t see you with that senator - who is very newly wed, if I don’t misremember,” Daken countered casually. “Lovely dress, serves you well,” he added as an afterthought and gave her breasts an appreciative once-over.

Daken could feel Bullseye’s grip tighten and the spike of jealously, despite the fact that he’d been staring at Karla’s generous and well-displayed chest as well.

“I am counseling him on his stance on certain issues. He’s a very impressionable man. Shame not to take advantage of that,” Karla replied, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. 

“A bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Daken remarked dryly and sipped at his champagne. It was an overpriced, and frankly speaking boring, Dom Pérignon - at least it wasn’t Cristal. Americans were so lacking in imagination with their cuvée de prestige. They did not even have the good taste to choose a good vintage. 

“It offsets my PhDs perfectly,” Karla said, “some men are so easily intimidated. Wouldn’t you agree?” She directed the last part at Bullseye who bristled. She was deliberately riling him so it was no wonder he was rising to her bait.

“I wouldn’t know,” Bullseye gritted, and Daken was certain that if hadn’t been for his healing factor he would have bruises after his fingers.

“Of course,” Karla smiled and gave them a half-nod and disappearing away on the arm of the good senator.

Bullseye growled low in his throat and drove Daken along with him to the men’s room. As soon as they stepped in, he had him by the throat and pressed him against the counter. Wordlessly, he unbuckled Daken’s belt and unzipped his pants, pulling them down forcefully and hoisting him up on the ledge. Daken kicked his leg free of his pants, allowing Bullseye to step between his thighs.

For a moment, he wondered why he was even doing that, knowing that with an easy pop of his claws he could have Bullseye off him - or even with a slightly too loud cry he could end it all. But Bullseye’s hands were on him, choking him and pulling at him, and his scent was intoxicating.

Bullseye entered him dry, Daken let out a strangled cry and clutched the cold marble ledge to keep his balance. He wrapped his free leg around Bullseye waist and rode the pain out, gasping and whimpering. Daken was half-aware of the men who escaped the room, flushed, indignant and in some cases aroused, and Bullseye’s threats to those who lingered a bit too long.

The relative anonymity of the masks seemed pitiful and flimsy, but Daken let himself be taken and displayed regardless of his feelings of humiliation and exposure. He felt too excited and caught up to do anything else. Bullseye fucked him like an animal, selfishly and roughly, but it was just what he wanted - raw and undiluted. He would have begged if he could have. He spent himself over his own stomach, unassisted, and Bullseye laughed darkly at him.

“Fucking slut. Pissing me off so that I’d stick it to you,” he growled and slammed harshly into him. “I’ll fucking give it to you, alright.”

All Daken could do in reply was gasp and shiver. Bullseye released his throat and grabbed him with both hands by his hips, setting a punishing rhythm that threatened to drive him mad. Helplessly, Daken hung on for the ride and soon he was sobbing with each thrust. Leaning back, he could see himself reflected in the mirror, his face was distorted by pain and pleasure, and felt yet another pang of shame at the sight of it.

He was debasing himself.

But Bullseye was fucking him and that blew right out of his mind as he was pushed into his second orgasm. This however didn’t seem deter Bullseye, who continued to fuck him relentlessly and with, what Daken suspected to be, spite. Now he did beg for Bullseye to end it, loudly and with abandon.

“You want me to come inside of you, Daken? Tell me,” Bullseye growled.

“Yes— yes,” Daken keened.

“Tell me,” Bullseye repeated and slapped him over the face.

“YES! Please come inside me, please, I am yours, please please-please,” Daken sobbed, shaking from over-stimulation.

“Good boy,” Bullseye growled darkly and patted him on the cheek. Thankfully, he came quickly after that - not that Daken was a good judge of anything at this point.

He felt like he was going to pass out there right on the counter, but Bullseye put a stop to that by dragging him to his feet. Unsteadily, Daken leaned on the counter and tried to catch his breath.

His suit was stained.

“Pull yourself together, princess. We have a party to attend,” Bullseye berated him, adjusted himself and his suit, then washed his hands. Hastily, and disjointedly, Daken got dressed and did his best to clean off his clothes.

Then, side by side, they rejoined the party. Idly, Daken downed several glasses of Dom and pretended that he didn’t care about the way people looked at him.


	9. Old Bad Habits (Daken/Gambit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gambit makes poor decisions, Daken makes them worse.

Gambit woke up with a loud groan, the first thing he saw was Daken, unmasked, crouching next to him in whatever hovel they were in and, without further thought, he lunged, grabbing the other mutant by the throat. Daken didn’t put up any real resistance, allowing himself to be pressed to the floor by his throat.

"Where is Laura? What have you _done_ to her?” Gambit demanded, loosening his grip only enough to allow for speech.

"Don’t worry about the test tube freak. I have plans in mind for her - she’ll be fine,” Daken replied casually, as if he wasn’t pinned to the floor or seconds away from choking.

" _Stop_ calling her that!"

"I call things as they are. She’s a test tube freak. I’m Daken, a _mongrel_ — and you’re a liar." He smiled, showing far too much teeth.

"What the hell are you driving at?"

"I know a thing or two about you. Do you think you’re redeeming yourself by taking care of her?"

"You can’t manipulate me that easy." Gambit responded, insulted that Daken thought that such a simple ploy would unnerve him in the least.

"No. I can’t — and I’m not trying too. It was an honest question." Daken replied with a half-shrug.

"Where is she?” Gambit repeated.

“Elsewhere. I will go for her in a few, once I’m done here.”

"What makes you think you’re going anywhere?"

"Oh, come on. You can threaten me better than that, _mon chéri,_ ” Daken purred, stealing his line. Gambit punched him in the face for his trouble - Daken laughed, blood dripping from a cut on lip, that healed moments later.

"Now can we cut past the foreplay and just agree on you doing what I want?" Daken asked and rolled his hips suggestively.

“ _Merde_. I told you, I don’t deal with men like you anymore.” Gambit spat, realizing what the other man was getting at, and not liking it in the least.

"No? That’s not what I heard, _chéri_." Daken leered with blood on his teeth. Gambit tired not to let his face show anything.

"Tell me where Laura is, before I start blowing up that pretty face off yours again, _chéri_.”

"Oh, so you do agree that I’m pretty.” Daken grinned, eyebrow cocked, and Gambit knew that he was getting nowhere with him.

He could torture him but then he wouldn’t be any better than this bastard, and he had a feeling that anything he could come up with Daken had lived through more than once. It wasn’t difficult to recognize someone as broken and mad as him. Oh, he had no doubt that Daken was lucid and fully aware of his actions, his madness was that of a person pushed past all and any limitations. Gambit had met more than a few in his life — and looked down that abyss himself.

"What the _hell_ do you want?” Gambit grumbled and released Daken with a sneer. Daken smiled a self-satisfied grin, wiping his blood of his mouth with the back of his hand. He then licked his lips and stared at him through hooded eyes. Gambit didn’t resist when Daken pressed their mouths together. He felt dirty and wrong — but he knew that he desired Daken regardless.

“You’ll give her back to me,” Gambit stated once the kiss broke.

“Oh chéri. Poor _petit_ Remy,” Daken mocked and laughed. “This isn’t for her. This is for us. I’m not going to blackmail you with or for sex. We’ve both been someone else’s whore far too many times. I wouldn’t insult you that way.”

"I’m pretty sure you already did," Gambit spat, annoyed by his name on Daken’s lips.

"I know how pointless this is. I know that this your gambit as well, Remy. We _fuck_ and are _fucked_ to get what we want. It’s preferable when they are pretty but that doesn’t stop people like us.”

“I’m not like you.”

“Maybe not, but close enough.” Daken kissed him again, tongue licking along lips, groaning loudly when Gambit responded by biting his lips and caressing his face.

“What do you want?” Gambit repeated annoyed, gripping Daken’s hair and pulling at it to emphasize.

“I _want_ everything. But if you’re talking about our petite soeur? Then, nothing. She will be free – how soon depends on you, though. The longer she is in Colcord’s hands the more she suffers. I want _you_ … to leave. I want you to stop interfering with my business. Cut your ties to Tyger. Once you have her just pack your things and don’t look back. Don’t tell Daddy dearest or the X-Men either. Just let me have Madripoor.” It sounded like he was begging and the little pout and big wet eyes were a good touch, but they both knew that it was all for show.

“Why should I honor this deal, or believe you?” Gambit asked.

“For the same reason you haven’t killed me yet,” Daken replied and pulled at their clothes. Gambit scoffed at his presumption. Daken thought like a bad guy – that everything came down to power – and that Gambit was like him. But he didn’t feel like correcting him.

“You _disgust_ me.”

“But you want me.”

“I never said I had good taste or judgment.”

Gambit wasn’t certain who initiated the next kiss or how Daken got undressed, but before long they were fucking on the floor. Daken was riding him, ecstatic and needy, panting and smiling. He was utterly gorgeous and everything anyone could want. Gambit caressed his unblemished thighs and tried to convince himself that this wasn’t pure madness from his behalf. Daken was beautiful, but exactly the type of person that Remy had sworn off time and time again.

“Don’t look so _mean_ , lover,” Daken purred and leaned down low to kiss him, he managed with the feat of agility to keep riding him while he did.

“I thought you liked bad men,” Gambit retorted and bit at him.

“Oh, I do, _very_ much.” Daken said and sat down on him fully, leaning back instead, hands resting on Remy’s legs, spine arching and shifting as he continued to fuck himself. It felt insanely good and whatever judgment call he had been trying to make flew out of his head.

“Merde,” Gambit cursed his damned habit of thinking with his dick, which was currently driving him mad with pleasure – Daken was expertly keeping him at his edge. But two could play that game. Grabbing him firmly by hip and thigh, Gambit thrust up into Daken’s undulating body making him gasp and his hard cock jump.

“Please touch me,” Daken begged him with mock coyness, his sex flushed cheeks and mussed mohawk adding to the illusion. Gambit wrapped a hand around his length and pumped him in rhythm with their fucking.

Together they drove each other into a frenzy, equally matched in desire and skill, both pretending that there was some kind of sanity in what they were doing. They came quietly in close succession, shuddering and panting.

“When you wake up, do what comes naturally. I’ll take care of her meanwhile,” Daken told him as he unseated himself, and before Gambit could react knocked him out cold with a mean right hook.

When Gambit woke up, Tyger was there and he was fully dressed once more. He didn’t tell her about Daken, who had snuck away like thief in the night. And when he had Laura back, they left without a word. He didn’t tell her about Daken, but he caught her starring at him more than once. Gambit smiled and avoided the subject. Daken had been right in calling him a liar.


	10. Acts of Comfort (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone cope with things in their own way, Bullseye’s was to make Daken’s life more miserable. Or so he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: violence, gore, blood and dub-con sex. Rape fantasies enacted. Power-play, sadomasochism, D/s. Trash-talk and homophobic slurs.

There was a certain terror in living like they did at the Tower after The Incident in bumfuck Dino town, Colorado; a dull and gnawing ache in your chest and a prickling in the back of your neck. Bullseye knew that he wasn’t the only one who felt it; as far as he could tell it was only their resident God of War who was immune to it. Then again, who knew if Ares could feel fear in the first place. Point was that they all desperately needed ways to relax.

Bullseye blamed most of it on the Sentry. But he would have been lying to himself saying that it was only the eldritch horror that was the totally-not-real Void that was making the lot of them nearly crap their pants every time someone sneezed. No, there was a constant feeling of impending doom, a wait for the other corpse to drop, for that last knife to stab you in the back when you least expected it.

Bullseye played along; he took his drugs, slept with his weapons, and pretended like everyone else that they weren’t flinching at the slightest provocation. But he noticed. Karla was using make-up like battle paint and spending more time intangible; Mac was over-dosing or skipping his meds and they saw more of Venom than him; Norman never left his armor and kept mumbling Goblin-y madness; Victoria looked like death warmed over in a sharp suit; and Daken… Daken was by all appearances perfectly normal and his usual obnoxious self. Expect he wasn’t.

Daken did not sleep anymore.

Bullseye had figured it out slowly after pulling a few all-nighters of his own and a chat with the boys in surveillance. The mutant had completely stopped sleeping. Now normally it took about a week until people went mad from sleep deprivation, but who knew how much a healing factor could compensate for. As a game, Bullseye started counting the days and looking for the tell tale symptoms. It took a week until he was certain the mutant was starting to lose it. The irritability and tendency to zone out weren’t difficult to notice, nor the change in appetite. It made baiting him ridiculously easy, and Norman was quite ready to blame all of it on Daken rather than Bullseye’s comparably subtle goading.

In fact, Daken was starting to get on everyone’s nerves,and considering how thin the team’s nerves were stretched, the end result was inevitable and hilarious. Daken got chewed out, beat up and put in detention right about every day. Bullseye hadn’t had so much fun since the Skrull war, it even took his mind of his own dread and malfunctions to a point. The nights were still bothersome and he ate his sleeping medication religiously.

After a particularly unnerving day of watching Sentry annihilate some AIM mooks and what can only be described as broccoli men, Bullseye decided that what he needed was a nice and relaxing fight. After making a cursory search in the common living areas and failing to find his favorite faggot sparring partner, who had been booted of the day’s missions after fighting with the medical staff, he decided to make a house call and sauntered toward Daken’s room.

"Hey, asshole! Osborn wants you," he lied and kicked at the door. There was no response, prompting him to try the handle. It was locked.

Bullseye cursed his luck and supposed that the mutant had to be out somewhere getting a manicure or something. Shrugging and deciding on getting a drink he turned to leave when he heard a faint click. Reacting instinctively, Bullseye whirled with a knife in his hand and threw it with the same flow of movement. The knife sank deeply into the door. Warily, Bullseye surveyed his surroundings. Nothing seemed to have changed, the soft flicker of lights in the corridor continued uninterrupted and all he could hear was his own breathing. There was no one else there.

"Paranoid, much?" he joked to himself and cursed the day he joined up in this crazy train. He glanced back at the closed door and walked up to it again, pulling the knife out with a twist. Hesitating for a moment, letting his hand hover over the handle before deciding, Bullseye tried to open it again. It opened soundlessly. Paranoia kicking in at full force, Bullseye pushed the door open and stepped back, starting into the half-dark room. From what he could see, nothing looked wrong and there was no one in sight.

"If you’re gonna ambush me, at least put some effort into it, fuck-face," Bullseye called out, still staying at the open door in an angle that made him less of a target, knowing that he was fully illuminated and made a good target.

There was no reply.

"Okay, if you wanna play it like that," Bullseye groused, with his knife in hand, and reached in and turned the lights on. The room looked much like his own if a bit neater and with the Wolverine suit on display in a glass case for some obscure reason. Daken was sitting on his bed, staring blankly ahead.

"Hey, I’m talking to you, faggot," Bullseye spat and threw the knife at Daken’s still form. Without even looking up, the mutant caught the blade with practiced ease and then stabbed it into the wall in front him, leaning forward on it and resting his forehead against the wall.

"—right," Bullseye mumbled to himself and felt a chill down his spine.

"What do you want, Lester?" Daken asked in a low murmur.

"Just thought you’d killed yourself or some shit. Wanted to see your body," Bullseye spat.

"You wanna see my body, babe? I can give you a real show," Daken continued in the same low murmur, it was incredibly creepy and sexual at the same time.

"If I get to kill you," Bullseye retorted and drew another knife, tensing and readying himself for whatever attack the mutant might make.

Laughing darkly, Daken pulled himself up with the knife and stood swaying slightly. Bullseye waited, not wanting to be drawn into the cramped space between the bed and the wall. Daken looked like crap in a haute couture model fashion; dark shadows framed his face and he looked like he’d been living on cocaine and cigarettes.

"Hmm, I might even let you, sweetness. If you make it worth my while," Daken chuckled and appreciatively looked him over, his gaze lingering below Bullseye’s belt.

Flustered and trying not to be goaded into lunging, Bullseye sneered and threw his knife. Daken was on his feet in the same moment and instead of hitting his heart, the knife lodged itself into his left shoulder and Bullseye got the feral mutant right up in his face. Daken was less then an inch from him and he could smell him, animal musk and a sickly sweetness that made him want to gag.

Throwing himself backward to avoid getting grappled, Bullseye cursed and tried to keep his balance.The space was too narrow and he knew that he would crash into the glass case behind him. Just as he expected the impact, there was a hand at his waist and he was violently pulled back. Forming a fist, he went for a blow to Daken’s throat as he was pulled in but another hand at his wrist stopped the blow short.

Right hand trapped in Daken’s grip and boxed in by his other hand, Bullseye went for a left-handed blow to his face. He hit true, forcing Daken’s face to the side and drawing blood from his nose, but the mutant did not release him. Instead, Daken leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Bullseye pressed his lips tightly shut, refusing the kiss, and turned his head away.

"I thought you wanted my body," Daken murmured into his ear, sighing and pressing himself closer, violence forgotten even though his grip was still tight and the knife buried in his shoulder.

"In a body bag," Bullseye spat and grabbed the mutant by his mohawk, pulling his head back and out of his personal space. Daken’s face was as haunted as before, angles too sharp and dark, but now there were tears in his flat, gray eyes.

"What the—?" Bullseye started but then steeled himself, "Let me go before I cut you up, faggot."

"Why should I?" Daken asked, unconcerned or unaware, still holding him tightly. It was disconcerting. Bullseye didn’t like it or Daken’s stench; he wanted to hurt him. But to do so he would have to let go of the mutant and he didn’t want that mouth anywhere near his. He could still taste him on his lips. Bullseye didn’t like it.

A moment passed and he felt Daken gently press his thigh between his legs. Startled, he flinched and violently pulled at the feral mutant’s mohawk. A tear fell down Daken’s cheek. Bullseye stared and, for a moment, he contemplated licking it off his face before the thought truly registered. Disgust filled him but as Daken’s thigh dragged along his he could feel himself hard against him.

With a snarl, Bullseye bodily forced Daken back — an awkward dance of limbs and bodies — and felt him bump against the bed.

"Let go," he said and grabbed the knife in his shoulder, twisting it in the wound, the mutant barely reacted at this but then Bullseye realized his miscalculation as he felt Daken’s leg behind his knee, tripping the both of them into the bed.

”Make it worth my while, sweetness,” Daken purred and smiled in an unnerving fashion, too much teeth and tension in his face to convey anything but predatory violence. Then he let go.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Bullseye took the opportunity. Straddling Daken’s hips and punching him in the face again, and again. He didn’t stop until his hands started to ache and Daken’s face was a bloody mess.

"Fucking faggot. Got all the attention you wanted?" Bullseye said, and spat Daken in the face. He could still taste him on his lips. He could still feel himself hard against him. The need to shift his hips and to grind down on Daken was unwelcome and pressing. At least he couldn’t smell anything but blood.

"—not by half," Daken gurgled and rasped, drooling blood. Leaning down and pulling at the mutant’s blood soaked hair, Bullseye snarled.

"I knew you weren’t sleeping but usually this level of crazy takes more than a few nights."

"—f-flatterd that you noticed," Daken muttered, his speech slurring, "nice to know you care."

"I don’t, fuckface. It was fun at first but now you’re just pissing me off," Bullseye retorted and once more twisted the knife in Daken’s shoulder. The mutant groaned and whimpered, gurgling blood and choking on it. His noises spoke to Bullseye on a primal level and reflexively he ground down at him, pressing their hips together and choking down his own sounds. 

"I knew you were big," Daken slurred and bucked up at him. Bullseye promptly broke his jaw again.

He wanted to just slit the mutant’s throat and then leave — but his body was refusing to stop grinding against him. The thought of cutting Daken up and fucking his wounds filled Bullseye’s mind, giving the little freak a feel for just how big he was. The disgust he felt barely overcame his desire — he knew right then and there that he would either end up fucking the faggot slut or spending the rest of the day in a completely frenzy. He didn’t feel like either but it wasn’t like he had much choice. It pissed him off.

"I’m gonna hurt you," he growled and pulled out the knife from the other man’s shoulder. Daken screamed wetly, it felt like music to his ears.

Bullseye ripped and cut at Daken’s clothes and flesh, alternately stabbing and cutting him as he stripped him bare beneath him. His flawless skin and that stupid tattoo taunted him and he did his best to ruin it all and to paint the mutant a blood red even as his wounds closed.

Daken’s half-hard cock was obscene to him and he toyed with the idea of cutting it off, castrating the mutant just to be rid of it but that would warrant him to touch him. Bullseye couldn’t bring himself to do that. Discarding the knife and untucking himself from his pants, freeing his own cock, Bullseye hesitated but his need prompted him to pull Daken’s legs up and to position himself against his ass.

"Gonna fuck you now, faggot. You better scream," Bullseye spat and entered him roughly. Daken screamed and blacked out for a few moments. Bullseye didn’t give a damn and fucked him violently, tight dryness becoming slightly slicker with blood. Shifting his position and folding Daken’s legs back further, Bullseye hit the mutant open-handedly across his bloodied face, waking him. 

"You’re not gonna get away that easy," he gritted out and thrust harshly and unyieldingly into Daken’s resisting body. The mutant sobbed and moaned, clutching the bloodied sheets.

"You’re a freak, Daken. A really fucking crazy sunnovabitch," Bullseye cursed and thrust, enjoying the feel of the other man’s body and the noises he made and the stench of blood. "I’m gonna fuck you until you break. But not because you want my cock, no, I’m doing it because I like hearing you cry. Because I like the smell of your blood. If you’re real good, baby, I’ll fuck you even harder and then I’ll fucking kill you. You get to die with my cock in your ass, faggot. That make you happy?”

"Ecstatic, sweetness," Daken replied darkly, jaw healed enough for him to talk, and Bullseye suddenly felt his blood-slicked hands on him and the noise of his claws being drawn. Daken was smiling behind all the blood and his face had mostly healed, and he looked insane with his eyes blown wide, nearly all pupil, and the far too serene expression. The fact that Daken hadn’t actually truly tried to harm him until now hit him like a knife in the gut. He’d been playing a part of whatever fucked up fantasy Daken had planned out.

"Fucking lunatic," Bullseye sneered and wanted nothing more than to come and get it over with, picking up his pace and slapping away a clawed hand from his face with mock self-assurance of his own safety. Thankfully, considering the options, Daken started to jerk himself off, slipping a hand between their bodies, claws half drawn and unnervingly close to Bullseye.

"Fuck me deeper," Daken told him and clenched his body, crying out loudly as Bullseye complied with spite. Hearing Daken talk and come with demands pissed him off and that smile was galling. He preferred the screaming and the crying.

"Shut up," he growled and took a choke-hold on Daken’s throat. Daken gurgled and gasped, mouth open and bloodied. Throttling him hard, Bullseye fucked his tight ass with as much force as he could. He didn’t want Daken to enjoy it but the freak was evidently too kinky to torture and he still needed to get off.

He was quite certain that it was the sight of Daken that was keeping from the edge, so he closed his eyes and focused on the feeling and the sound of him. Flesh slapping against flesh, Daken’s raspy wheezing and the sensation of being buried deep in his hot body. Unbidden the memory of Daken’s lips on his filled him and he growled.

"Fucking hate you," Bullseye hissed and leaned down low, releasing Daken’s throat and grabbing his mohawk again. Before he could change his own mind, he pressed his mouth against Daken’s and bit and kissed at him desperately. To his great shame, it seemed to do the trick and he felt himself get close to coming. Whining unhappily, he buried himself in both Daken’s ass and mouth. Shaking and nearly blacking out from the sensation, Bullseye bit at Daken’s mouth as he came.

It took him several minutes to get his bearings back, Daken’s body was still clenching tightly around him and giving him phantom sensations of coming. Bullseye growled and pulled back only to be stopped by Daken’s strong legs wrapped around him.

"Let me go, fuckface, or I’ll fucking start cutting things off," Bullseye threatened, trying to get his barely functioning mind to restart. However, the sensation of two sharp pricks against his throat did wonders to wake him up.

"I’m not done yet," Daken growled darkly, a deep grumble and a clear threat. "You’re staying there until I am."

"Doesn’t fucking work like that," Bullseye said and strained away from Daken’s claws.

"Does if I want it too," Daken countered and grabbed him by the back of his neck, pressing him closer to his claws. Bullseye could feel droplets of blood slide down his skin. He was just about to try something insane when Daken started to undulate and jerk his hips, causing him to gasp and cry out in both pain and pleasure.

"If you want this to go quicker, babe, you’ll give me a hand or start fucking me like you promised,” Daken hissed in his ear. Whining and growling, Bullseye made a last attempt to free himself which resulted in a painful shift of Daken’s claws across his throat. He knew if he tried that again it would the last the thing he did. He would die with his cock buried in Daken instead of the other way around.

Reluctantly and with a sneer, Bullseye wrapped a hand around Daken’s hard cock and started to jerk him off. He did his best to imagine that it was his own and tried to use the tricks that usually did it for him.

Daken gasped and writhed happily beneath him, shifting his hips in a way that was causing him to clench and rub against Bullseye’s own sensitive cock. Gasping and whimpering from over-stimulation, Bullseye tried to focus on the task at hand and quickly worked Daken into coming all over his hand in thick spurts. Bullseye let go of him immediately and wiped his come off on his thigh. Daken tightened his hold, shuddering around him, before letting him go and sprawling wide on the bed.

"Not bad, sweetness," Daken murmured, as Bullseye slipped out of him, and grabbed him by a wrist. "You need a little bit of practice."

"Fuck you!" Bullseye yelled defensively and pulled at his hand, Daken pulled back and unbalanced him enough to send him sprawling down.

"You did. No need to be angry," Daken said and embraced him, sweaty and sticky. Bullseye struggled, disgusted, but then Daken’s lips were on him. He still didn’t like it but for some reason he opened his mouth and let Daken slip his tongue in.

"Stay with me," Daken urged him and kissed at him between the words.

"I’m not doing anything else for you, faggot. Let me go," Bullseye repeated himself but he felt like his body was going to gainsay him again as he started to relax in Daken’s arms and his mind started to feel cloudy.

"As you said, I haven’t slept. Evidently, this was just what I needed. Nothing is quite as good a good fuck for a good night’s sleep. Stay with me, help me sleep," Daken murmured into his throat and mouth as he kissed him sleepily. "You haven’t been this relaxed since Colorado either, have you, Lester?"

Bullseye bristled and did his best to stay awake, but what Daken had said was true. He felt more at ease now than he had in ages.

"Fucking sleep then, faggot," he groused and closed his eyes, pretending that it didn’t bother him. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is Daken’s bloodied lips pressed against his.


	11. Quiet (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye hated working with Daken.

Bullseye was slammed hard against the wall, pressed into the rough facade, with a hand covering his mouth and the startled yell that had wanted to escape.

"Hush, sweetness," Daken whispered, barely audible, into his ear. "Guards — right around the corner. They won’t come here, but if you had got any closer they would have caught you."

Bullseye growled into Daken’s hand. He was not particularly happy about the mutant’s approach to their infiltration mission. One moment he was there then he was gone, just to reappear from nowhere again. He fucking hated it. Fuckhead was making him do all the work, and making it sound like he was the fuck-up.

Foot steps echoed on the concrete, someone was heading their way. Daken pulled him quietly deeper into the space between the two buildings, letting the shadows hide them. He still kept his hand over Bullseye’s mouth, who was half a heart on biting him by this point.

The guard stopped right at the opening. He must have seen them, Bullseye’s instincts scream at him, and he tried to escape Daken’s grip who just pinned him harder against the wall.

The guard lighted a cigarette, casually taking a smoke break mere feet from them. Bullseye relaxed a bit into Daken’s grip, but gave him a glare to get him to let him go. Instead of that happening, he could feel Daken smile into his neck and press himself against him.

Bullseye did not dare to move in case the guard would see them. Though he wanted to, every bone in him wanted to, but common sense dictated that he couldn’t. They were half a world away at a hostile army base, trying to steal secret files. They would never get out alive if caught.

Bullseye could feel Daken’s breath in his neck, his lips and teeth, as he humped him like the fucking mutt he was. He could feel Daken’s cock harden against his ass — the black ops suit they were both wearing hiding nothing — but also his own response to it.

Angry and aroused, Bullseye glared continuously at the guard, wishing he’d be done with his fucking smoke, so that he could put a bullet in Daken’s head. Preferably before the mongrel made the both of them come in their pants. He was too tightly pressed to the wall to even give himself a hand.

The guard dropped and stomped his stub in the ground, and just as Bullseye grunted in relief, lighted another and chatted on the radio. From what Bullseye could understand, the fuckhead was pretending to be doing his rounds. Frustrated, Bullseye rolled his eyes and snorted. Daken grinned into his neck, kissing him beneath his ear and rolling his hips against him.

Fucking bastard.

Torn between the fear of capture, anger and arousal, Bullseye tried too press back into Daken’s thrusts to get it over with. The friction was just enough to be maddening but not quite enough to do the trick. Daken, who must have seen or smelt his frustration, obliged him by kissing and biting at his neck and ear. Glaring murder while rubbing himself against his own pants as well as Daken’s cock, Bullseye could finally feel himself getting close with the added stimuli.

It took two more cigarettes, before they both came with silent shudders. Bullseye tried to keep from breathing too heavily, and to keep from attacking Daken now that they were done. Daken’s hand against his mouth was wet with saliva, and he could feel his own come stick to his skin and underwear. It felt disgusting.

The guard finally left. 

"We should leave now." Daken told him as he let him go.

"You fucking asshole— we still have the damn mission.” Bullseye hissed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, controlling his anger.

"Oh that. I went and got it right before I came to get you." Daken said with a grin and showed him a tiny memory drive, before shoving it back in a pocket.

"I swear I’ll kill you once we’re out.” Bullseye bristled, fuming still, but more focused on getting the hell out of Dodge. Daken merely grinned and raised an eyebrow.

Bullseye was totally going to shove him out of the helicopter once they were in the air again.


	12. Games We Play (Daken/Bullseye)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: NC17, very D/s, profanity, anal play, edging, violence, trash talk.

”Aren’t you full of surprises, sweetness.” Daken remarked as they left the mission debrief. It had been a clusterfuck of a mission and everyone had gotten chewed out.

“Fuck you going on about?” Bullseye spat and crossed his arms, lingering in the hall as the others filtered by. Daken grinned languidly, like he knew something, and glanced back at the turned backs of their – always bickering – teammates. Ares’ large frame dominating the space, as he kept Karla from cat-fighting Victoria as they walked.

“You – getting off on Ares when he put you in your place.” Daken said and smiled that smug shit-eating grin of his. It alone was reason enough to punch him, however, the fucker slipped out of his reach, as if he wasn’t even trying.

“Just because you’re a bitch-ass faggot, who gets off on your Daddy beating you, doesn’t mean that the rest of us are sick little freaks.” Bullseye retorted and composed himself, pretending he just hadn’t tried to beat Daken to a pulp. “Well, I wouldn’t put it past Mac.”

Daken chuckled and patted him on the cheek. “I could smell you, Lester. You smell so good when you’re turned on, so I couldn’t help but notice. Tell me, was it because he dominated you — or because of that he stinks of violence? Both?”

Bullseye grabbed his wrist and squeezed, removing it from his person, face set in a snarl. “I’m gonna tear you apart—”

“Do you want him to slap you around again? Do you want him to hold you down and fuck you, call you his little bitch and tell you to take it?” Daken goaded with a grin, grabbing him by his costume, claws slowly popping skin with blood running down his hands. Bullseye flushed, angry and indignant, breaking Daken’s wrist with a snap.

In reply, claws were suddenly pressed dangerously against his throat, and he stilled. “You fantasize about that, don’t you? His fat cock ripping you apart, him stinking of death and blood on top of you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Lester?” Daken purred into his face, just inches away, with only his claws against Bullseye’s throat keeping him alive to play his games.

“You’re a sick freak, you know that.” Bullseye gritted and raised his chin, challenging the mutant to kill him and emphasizing their height difference.

“Maybe, but you – on the other hand – are fucking hard,” Daken leered and grabbed him by the groin, proving his point. “I guess it’s the trash talk that does you in, sweetness.”

Bullseye tried to struggle but he couldn’t escape Daken’s claws or firm grip, instead Daken forced him back into the conference room and backed him into the table.

“Don’t worry, Lester. I won’t leave you hard and aching for a good fuck.” Daken told him and hoisted him up on the table, claws still drawn and dangerously close to main arteries, the slightest of pressure would bleed him dry in seconds. Daken stripped him, cut lightly at him and lapped the blood, all while keeping him spread wide and pinned to the table.

“I’ll fuck you good. Fill you up and hurt you until you beg me to come,” Daken said, jerking him off with a clawed hand and fondling his thighs with the other. “I’ll make you cry.”

“F-fuck you—” Bullseye gasped, arching as Daken slipped a finger inside of him. Bullseye was alarmingly aware of the fact that the mutant could, at any moment, extend his claws fully – much more than the barest of hint that he was sporting at the moment. He could feel the scape of bone against his thighs as it was — it was terrifying and arousing at the same time.

“None of that. Be a good boy, Lester.” Daken chided, curling his finger and griping his cock tighter. Bullseye gasped and startled at the feeling, hips jerking and thighs shuddering - an undignified, pleading whine left him unbidden.

“Better. Don’t worry, darling, I’ll give you more.” Daken said, unbuckled his belt and pulled out his hard cock. With a pleased hum, Daken then slipped another finger inside, really starting to fuck him with them, as he played with his own cock.

Bullseye gasped and tried to stay still, fearing that, if he moved, Daken would cut him up. His entire body shook, however, tremors running up and down with each movement Daken made with his intrusive fingers. Bullseye couldn’t help but claw at the table for something to ground him, latching onto the edge with a vice like grip when Daken pulled him closer.

“Do you want my cock, Lester?” Daken asked – fingers slipping out of his body but still fondling him languidly – burning pleasure replaced by both relief and longing. Bullseye could feel Daken’s cock slap against his thigh, a physical reminder of what the mutant was offering. Bullseye whined.

“A-ah. I want to hear you say it.” Daken ordered and slapped his inner thigh with a loud smack.

“I – I want it.” Bullseye said with a hiss, looking away at the window and the skyline of the city.

“Look at me.” Daken ordered with another slap on his other thigh. Bullseye hissed again and looked at Daken. The mutant was standing between his thighs, erect and smirking. “Tell me again. Tell me that you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me.” Bullseye repeated, each word was like pulling teeth, but he ached, and nothing mattered more than fucking.

“You’re such a good boy,” Daken practically purred as he entered him, holding him by his thighs.

Teeth gritted in a rictus of a grin, Bullseye rode out the pain and tried not to sound like a whore at the feeling of being filled again. It felt good, so damn good, and when Daken thrust, Bullseye growled and pressed himself against him impatiently.

“You feel great, Lester. Such a tight little ass – even despite me finger fucking you first. No wonder you want someone to fill it for you.” Daken trash talked as he fucked him, that same smug grin plastered on his face. Bullseye hated that smile. Daken had him by the hips and thighs, lifting and pulling, ensuring that each thrust would be hard and fast. It was painful, and exactly what he wanted. Bullseye could taste blood in his mouth; he’d bit his lips hard enough to break skin. 

"Oh sweetness, there’s no need to hold back. Let me hear you.” Daken murmured and caressed his face, thumbing his lips and painting blood on his chin. As if it meant something, Bullseye could feel his jaw relax and a shuddering breath leave him.

“Much better.” Daken encouraged, shifting his pace to elicit more noises out of him. Bullseye let him have them. He wrapped his hand around his cock, needing release badly. Daken removed it immediately, pinning it by his side, and thrust harshly into him.

“You don’t get to touch yourself, pet.” He chided – the moniker as well as the command making Bullseye more frustrated and needy. He writhed and squirmed, but didn’t dare disobey the command, in case that meant that Daken would stop fucking him.

“Please.” Bullseye said and glared at Daken, who smiled indulgently and cocked an eyebrow.

“You can do better than that, pet.”

“Please, Daken. I – I need to come. Please.”

“Good boy,” Daken hummed and leaned down low to plant a kiss on his lips. A little peck and a quick flicker of a tongue tasting him; a reward for his cooperation. Daken picked up his pace again, a punishing rhythm, that Bullseye could barely keep up with, but all he could do was take it and continue to beg for Daken to finish them both off. Shuddering and breathless, Bullseye finally came as Daken gave him permission to do so.

Bullseye was certain that he blacked out for a few moments, right there on the table, because when he looked up again Daken was fully dressed again, instead of balls deep in his ass. He felt sweaty and weak, still shuddering from the force of his orgasm and exhaustion, and not quite connected to his own body. He felt drunk. Then Daken was there, pulling him up and taking him in his arms, pressing their mouths together. Bullseye shuddered and clung weakly to him as Daken shushed him and talked about nothing in particular. Slowly, he started to feel more like himself, enough at least to stand on his own feet and to punch Daken in the face.

“What was that for?” Daken wondered and rubbed his jaw.

“This is the fucking main conference room; there are cameras here!” Bullseye spat.

“My bad. You were just that irresistible.” Daken shrugged.

“You ruined my clothes, shithead.”

“You’ve been seen in worse.”

“On a fucking battlefield, yes. Not doing the walk of shame in the buff.”

“True.”

“Well, fuck you too.”Bullseye said and punched Daken in the arm. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s get you dressed and fed then.” Daken said, leaned up and kissed him on the lips. “That was fun, by the way.”

Bullseye scoffed and leaned on him, kissing his head absentmindedly.


	13. A Taste (Venom/Bullseye)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: non-con, bloodplay, tentacles, cannibalism, bloodplay, frottage.

Mac was happy to work with Bullseye most of the time. Bullseye always knew some fun way for the both of them to get their fill of bloodshed, without Norman getting on their case. Given, of course, that Medical hadn’t fucked either of them over or up that week. But this week Mac felt good, he felt like himself as well as more in touch with the symbiote. He didn’t mind it. Everything just felt easy and smooth. Just like his claws ripping out this asshole’s guts.

Mac wasn’t 100% sure why they were killing the gangbangers, beyond that fact that they were punk ass bitches and were shooting at them. But fuck it, right, he was having fun. Bullseye seemed to be having a fun time too; together, they had already slaughtered a dozen or so, and the assassin was currently using a lead pipe to ventilate a head with a wide grin on his face. Mac paused his happy mauling to grab a banger by the head, lifting him off his feet, and tasting him with his long lolling tongue. Fear. He tasted of pure terror — and the symbiote loved it, so did Mac. With a hungry grin, Mac shoved a clawed finger into the man’s throat and felt him bleed to death, tasted him dying, and watching him jerk until he died.

"You done playing with you food, Venom?" Bullseye asked with a happy cheer. He was sitting on a corpse, pipe still in hand, and sporting a hard-on. Mac grinned at him and licked the blood off his hands, dropping the corpse like the sack of meat that it was.

"Not hungry," he replied with a rolling shrug. He remembered being upset at Bullseye about the food comments once, but it no longer mattered. Few things did.

Mac tasted the air, blood and filth were strong on his tongue, but Bullseye’s arousal was there too. It was teasing and delicious, not the same instant hit as fear, but very, very good. He wanted to taste more of it. He needed it.

"Ready to go then?" Bullseye continued, standing up and twirling the pipe in random patterns. "Osborn wants us back in a few, but no hurry."

Mac, his tongue lolling and flicking, was by his side in a few strides and stared down at the assassin, who was suddenly much more tense. Not quite fear, but something like it, it tasted delicious with the lingering arousal.

"Personal space, ever heard of it?" Bullseye complained and took a step back, pipe gripped firmly in his right hand, eyes wary. They were very wide and blue. Mac could feel and hear through the symbiote as the other man’s pulse rose slightly as the moment stretched.

"I like your scent," Mac told him and hummed, a guttural noise through alien vocal cords. "Tastes good."

"Yeah, well, eau de Bullseye is not for sale," Bullseye quipped, eyes narrowing and his stance shifting. Mac was ready for the first lunge, and with sheer force of strength, he grabbed and disarmed Bullseye mid-swing. The pipe fell with a loud clatter on the concrete. Bullseye was already moving and trying to make space between them, but Mac had him by the waist — his tongue wrapped around him like a coil. Bullseye was yelling at him, shouting insults and threats, while he struggled in his grip.

"I’m not gonna eat you," Mac reassured him. "I just wanna taste."

"Fuck you! You’re not tasting anything, you damn cannibal freak!" Bullseye said and kicked at him. He even got in a few, prompting Mac to restrain his legs and spread them. He was still hard, but fear was killing off his arousal. That wouldn’t do. Bullseye got off on violence and pain. Mac was quite willing to supply it if it meant that he could taste him at his best.

Mac stepped between his legs, adjusting his grip, and pressed Bullseye’s body close to him, running a claw along his face and drawing a line of blood. Bullseye snarled at him and spat him in the face. Mac licked both the offending spittle and blood, it tasted good, but not as good as he knew it could be. It wasn’t enough.

"Wanna taste you — like before," Mac tried to explain and, once more, pressed his claws into Bullseye’s flesh, feeling and tasting blood, but not getting it quite right.

"Fuck you going on about? Let me go before I fucking KILL you." Bullseye snarled and tried his best to both attack and escape. He was less aroused, his taste settling more on fear and anger. Mac growled, angry that Bullseye was denying him just a little taste, and angry that he couldn’t get it right.

Frustrated, he ground down at Bullseye, trying to achieve something. It seemed to help, a little bit, but also pissed Bullseye off like hell. He tired to ignore the shouting, but the symbiote hated it, so he settled on webbing Bullseye’s mouth shut. He was careful enough to ensure that he could breathe though. He had no intention of harming him, let alone killing him.

"You tasted so good before. When you were enjoying yourself.” Mac said, feeling Bullseye’s erection beneath the spandex, feeling him shudder and struggle in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasurable. Bullseye continued his attempts at screaming, but the stimuli seemed to be turning him on again.

"Think of killing. About the bodies and the blood," Mac urged him and continued to rub himself against his crouch."Even that fuckhead Daken, if that float your boat," he added as an afterthought, considering that it was usually fighting Daken that Bullseye was the most aroused.

Bullseye glared murder at him, but scent and taste grew headier. Mac keened happily at the development. Again, he clawed at his body, drawing blood and lapping it up with his tongue. Each precious droplet was like a drug, and Mac knew that the symbiote wanted more. It wanted to eat. He wouldn’t let it — but he would have his fill.

Grinding and cutting, Mac kept Bullseye at an edge until his taste started to suffer from the blood loss. With a disappointed grunt, he finally let the other man come and released him unto the floor — his body riddled with shallow cuts and his clothes a shredded mess. Bullseye’s first action was to attack him, but with the combined blood loss and the time he’d spent restrained, Mac fended him off easy.

"Hey, take it easy, man. You’ll faint," Mac said and flashed him a grin.

"I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll kill you. Kill you,” Bullseye repeated, having ripped off the webbing, swaying on his feet and white faced.

"What’s your problem?" Mac asked, still tasting blood, shrugging.

“Kill you,” Bullseye repeated, mad eyed, and dead fainted as he tried to lunge a second time. His head bounced on the concrete slightly.

Mac stared at his unconscious body for several moments, resisting the urge to go for seconds, to finish him off. Norman would be upset. And he liked Bullseye. Besides, if he lived he could taste him again.

With a whistle, Mac grabbed Bullseye and threw him over his shoulder, sauntering out into the daylight.


	14. Two can play that Game (Bullseye/Daken)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullseye decides to return the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: fantasies, oral fixation, slight bloodplay, teasing, exhibitionism/voyeurism, masturbation, edging, blowjob, fingering, rough anal sex, d/s powerplay.

It was a may afternoon and Norman had them sitting in on yet another one of his meetings, which as usually were composed of a) Norman yelling at them for half an hour, and b) Norman monologuing for another hour for good measure. Bullseye always zoomed out after the yelling. He didn’t think he could be faulted since Stormin’ Norman’s tirade usually left him half deaf as it was.

However, this time Norman was really taking his sweet time talking about whatever and Bullseye was getting bored. The rest of the team where also in various stages of slumber, barring Captain Crazyglue whose face was rapt with attention at every word that left Osborn’s mouth. Guess you had to be that insane to appreciate or understand Norman’s ranting. Bullseye’s wandering gaze settled on Daken’s profile, the little shit was once more out of uniform in one of his fancy ass suits that hugged his body in ways that somehow managed to be more revealing than his skintight spandex. He imagined ripping it off him, tying him up with its remains and pulling at that stupid mohawk, which would be a perfect handhold to steer him as he fucked his mouth. Wipe that damn smile straight off his face with his cock.

He startled a bit at the force of his fantasies, the choking need to wreck that smug shit in every way possible, but on second thought realized that he really didn’t care. He was Bullseye, he took what he wanted, and the mutant had just gotten bumped up to first place of things he intended to have. Fuckhead was made for fucking as it was, with that body and a bloody healing factor to top it – Bullseye had a million ideas of what he could do with that, and it wasn’t as if the shit hadn’t made a billion passes at him. He was fucking gagging for it.

The idea of fucking Daken settled in his brain like a cancer, aching and distorting everything, but Bullseye wanted to have some fun with it.

The little bitch had paraded in front of him for months and teased him like an uncut throat, and it was time to return the favor. A smile crept on Bullseye’s face, teeth bared, and his eyes fixed on Daken like a target. It didn’t take long for the mutant to catch his eye out of the corner of his, a slight raise of the eyebrow and and smug smirk grazed his face as he unflinching met his gaze.

Still maintaining eye contact, Bullseye drew a knife from its holster and toyed with it demonstratively, twirling it in patterns only to abruptly stop and rest the tip against his lower lip. Daken followed the blade with his eyes, curious and amused, reacting only slightly at its resting place. Bullseye stared at him and dragged the blade down his lip, nicking it only ever so little and drawing a droplet of blood. He licked it off and sucked at his lower lip, teeth biting and worrying the wound. Daken’s face shifted slightly; a dilation of the pupils and the tiniest flick of a tongue across his own lower lip, mirroring the gesture. Hook.

Bullseye brought up the blade to his mouth again and licked along the blade, tasting blood but not cutting into his flesh again, he twirled it again and smirked back at Daken. He stabbed down at the table with the blade, resting it there like a challenge. Leaning back in his chair, sprawling wide, he toyed with the grip of the knife, fingers playing along the leather. Norman droned on about management and PR strategies, but Bullseye was completely focused on Daken.

Imagined him under him, the noises he could coax out of those lips if he wrapped his hands around and in him. He’d even take him in his mouth, just to taste and to make him scream. His free hand moved to his mouth and he toyed with his lips as he thought, rubbing at his lips and biting down on a finger. The worrying made him bleed again, and a droplet of blood mixed saliva ran down the corner of his mouth. Carelessly, he wiped it off, smearing a trail of blood on his chin.

Bullseye could see Daken look at him like dinner, but the little faggot was fooling himself if he thought that it was Bullseye who would get eaten alive. Bullseye would devour him.

He knew that Mac had noticed by now that something was up, having smelled the blood like the cannibal freak he was, but Bullseye didn’t care if he had an audience. Not as long as it meant that Daken was watching too. Besides, it was not like the freak dared do anything, Bullseye had him completely scared to death of him.

In fact, Mac’s fear and alarm just added to his excitement. Bullseye spread his legs wider to accommodate for his growing hardness, and he knew that they could smell it on him just like the blood. Stormin’ Norman was none the wiser thanks too the table and his single-minded oration, the rest of his team too half-asleep to care.

Bullseye gripped the knife hard and pulled it free, grinning at Daken and his slightly parted lips and hooded eyes. He had every intention to drive the mutant mad, to push and press at every button until he begged him for a taste. Have him gagging for it and then just push him in deeper. Served the little prancing shit right.

Biting at his lip, purposefully keeping the wound open, Bullseye holstered the knife and used the motion to hide the fact that he was freeing his cock from his pants. The full dilation of his pupils and soft exhale at this from Daken was impossible to miss, the feral knew exactly what he had done. Line. The corresponding response from Mac was to stiffen like a deer in the head lights. Both amused Bullseye to no end. 

Languidly and with discrete movements, Bullseye toyed with himself. The purpose of his game wasn’t to come but to keep Daken’s attention, to fuck with his senses and imagination. As far it seemed to be doing the trick, the mutant was actively trying not to stare at him, averting his eyes but glancing back compulsively. His body was stiff and he was holding onto his own arms, with nails digging into flesh, and his nostrils kept flaring and his tongue licked his lips incessantly. He was hanging on to his precious self-control with tooth and nail. That wouldn’t do at all. Bullseye wanted to see him crumble, to see him break in front of him.

With a deliberately lewd leer, Bullseye brought his hand back to his mouth and shoved two fingers inside, openly sucking them and then letting his tongue wet his hand with a broad lick. Briefly, he displayed his slick fingers to Daken, whose mouth dropped open enough to bare teeth, before he returned his hand around his cock. The slickness was a welcome change, and Bullseye let his face show a little of that pleasure to give the mutant a little show. Daken shifted in his seat and gripped his arms tighter. Bullseye could see blood pooling from his knuckles. Sinker.

A strangled noise from Mac drew everyone’s attention for a moment.

“Something you want to add, Spider-Man?” Norman asked, insisting on using code names.

“Nothing,” Mac squeaked, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor.

“Perhaps you should take a pill,” Bullseye suggested happily. “You’re looking a bit green around the gills. Need a hand?”

“No,” Mac said far too quickly and shuddered. Bullseye gave him a cruel grin, and flashed a conspiratory look at Daken who seemed to have composed himself somewhat.

But Bullseye could see the tension in him, he could see that he’d gotten past the mutant’s defenses. Now It was just to reel him in.

As if nothing had happened Bullseye tucked himself back in his pants, his erection straining in the tight fabric. He could withstand the temptation and the strain if it meant that he could blow his load in or on Daken later. It would just make it so much sweeter.

Norman rounded off the meeting shortly there after, the interruption having broken his focus and given Hand the opportunity to distract him further with actual work that needed doing.

Bullseye left the meeting next to last, having waited out his team so that it was just Daken and him, he winked at the mutant and cupped his own erection as a last parting gift. He could hear Daken after him seconds later, without turning he lead him to one of the rest rooms.

“That was quite the display, darling. If a bit vulgar,” Daken purred as he locked the door behind him, all pretend composure.

“Got you all hot and bothered,” Bullseye smirked and indicated the tent in Daken’s designer pants.

“Pretty sure you bothered everyone,” Daken retorted as if he wasn’t hard and flushed.

“And you’re here to complain?” Bullseye sneered, unsatisfied by Daken’s control. He needed to break him. “Doesn’t really look like it from here.” He crouched by the other man’s feet and grabbed him close with a firm grip on his ass.

Daken startled, he’d caught him unaware. The knowledge painted a grin on Bullseye’s face and he mouthed at Daken’s cock through the offending fabric. This time Daken groaned and jerked his hips. Much better. Bullseye hummed to himself, mouth playing and biting at Daken’s pants, and squeezed at his ass.

“Aren’t you full of surprises today,” Daken said and Bullseye could hear the smirk on his face. He slapped him on the ass promptly and hard. Daken yelped and then moaned, again jerking against his mouth. Such a lovely noise, much better than the shit he was talking.

Bullseye’s went about ripping and tearing with his teeth to remove Daken’s pants, more than once letting himself just ever so slightly graze Daken’s hard cock. Each time had the mutant’s breath hitching and soon enough making desperate little noises. It was worth being on his knees for that. The noise Daken made when Bullseye finally took him in his mouth was twice the reward. He wanted to feel the mutant crumble, what better way was there to know exactly the effect he was having on him. Learning as he went, Bullseye sucked and licked, making sure to pause often and bite at Daken’s thighs and slap at his ass. Once he estimated that Daken was aroused and close enough to coming, he stopped.

With a pointed grin he slipped his fingers into his own mouth again and sucked at them instead, watching the flushed mutant stare at him with a desperate look. With another wide leer, a displayed his slick fingers . “Gonna ask for it?”

Daken gave him a long look, Bullseye could see him struggle with saying something shitty as usually or getting what he wanted.

“What do I get, darling?” He finally asked, shivering as Bullseye licked his thigh.

“Depends on what you’re willing to beg for,” Bullseye hummed, not having really planned how far he would play this game. He decided that he would do whatever if he could get Daken to gag for it first, even if he had initially intended his fingers for Daken’s tight ass. He could always fuck him after. Fuck him when he was already gone with lust, fuck him past all borders and just ruin him.

Daken whined, cock bobbing and demanding his attention.

“Choose or you don’t get shit,” Bullseye said, forcing the mutant’s hand, feeling excited at whatever Daken might settle on. He grinned wide when the mutant’s lips opened and closed, tongue licking across them excitedly.

“Fuck me. Please,” Daken said, his body and voice shaking.

“Couldn’t quite hear you there, fuckhead. Speak up.” Oh, he’d heard exactly what Daken had said but he wanted to hear it again, like he meant it, he wanted him to beg.

“Please, Lester. Fuck me,” Daken repeated and spread his stance. “Please.”

Bullseye chuckled and licked along his cock, slipping his slick finger inside Daken’s ass just as he took him in his mouth again. He played and prepared Daken’s ass, making him ride his fingers like the bitch in heat that he was. Daken thrust and moaned, Bullseye barely managed to contain his gag reflex but decided to take it as another challenge. He was winning as it was. Daken was coming apart in his hands and mouth. Fucking little shit wasn’t so cocky now.

He kept the mutant on an edge, stopping and starting each time he got close, until he had Daken whining and trying to fuck his face. He stopped that shit right there and bit him on the thigh and smacked him on the ass for his interruption.

“Please, please, just fuck me already,” Daken begged, breathing heavy and squirming in his grip. Bullseye kissed him over the bite mark and hummed, pretending to consider the matter. With a toothy grin, he stood up and pressed their mouths together. Daken leaned into the kiss, wide eyed and hungry. It was easy to unbalance him and bend him over the sink counter, the mutant barely had the time to brace himself for the impact.

“Don’t worry, I will. You’re gonna have to take it rough, ain’t fucking using soap,” Bullseye stated matter-of-factly, loving the groan that left Daken’s lips at the prospect.

“I like it rough,” Daken chuckled and spread his legs as wide as his pants, which were trapped around his ankles, let him, shoving his ass up in the air best as he could. Bullseye stepped up close and licked and kissed along Daken exposed neck, the mutant fuck shivered and begged him. It was music to his ears.

With as much spit as he could feel bothered with, Bullseye eased himself in while stroking Daken’s cock. It was a tight and slow, even with having loosened him first, but after letting Daken ease himself, nearly hilt deep, down on him with a satisfied sigh, Bullseye picked up a deep and slow pace. He could watch Daken’s face in the mirror and he reveled in this fact, lapping up each expression and sound like honey.

His shirt and vest were rumbled and Bullseye decided on tearing them up even more by using them as a hand hold. Daken was left to jerk himself off if he wanted to but the mutant seemed content to just brace himself on the counter and let him do all the work.

“Put some effort into it, or I’ll leave you like this. Open and empty, gagging for a good fucking,” Bullseye ordered in a deceptively quiet voice.

Daken whined and backed up against him, forcing himself up fully on his arms as close as he could without having him slip out. Their height difference was enough to force him deeper inside the mutant, who moaned like a whore, and he grabbed him by the hair to keep him in the position. Daken started to awkwardly fuck himself on him, straining with each movement, face flushed and mouth open. Bullseye stared at his mirror image, fascinated and aroused by the look in his eyes.

“So fucking beautiful,” he hissed in Daken’s ear, tugging at his hair, and took pity on him and started to fuck him in earnest, his eyes still fixated on Daken’s face in the mirror. Daken grunted and gasped, mouth set in a smile as he fucked him. He slipped a hand down and started to jerk himself off, finally making eye-contact with Bullseye.

They pushed each other off the edge like this, starring at each others through the mirror, laid bare for both of their eyes. Bullseye savored each moment and, once he saw Daken lose himself to his own orgasm, let himself come with a sigh, buried deep in Daken’s body. He forced himself to watch the mirror as he came, hanging on to Daken for dear life, rapturous. His lip was bleeding and he took to opportunity to press a bloody kiss on Daken’s face and then lips, eyes never leaving their reflection.

“Was it as good for you too, fuckhead?”

Daken just smiled like he knew something and Bullseye resisted the urge to smash his face in. He had won after all.


	15. Anticipation (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: PWP. NC17. shibari bondage, choking, D/s, sadomasochism, graphic sex, fingering, blood fetishism, orgasm denial, trash talk, (fyi it’s consensual)

"You’re absolutely disgusting. You stink worse than Mac’s room. Kissing you is like licking an ashtray. But I have  to admit, you do have a certain charm." Daken paced around him, his tone casual and cordial.

"At first I didn’t quite know what interested me about you. Figured that it had to be my weakness for blue-eyed blonds, how you stink of violence and the danger of it, or even how cute you are when you’re angry." Daken crouched in front of Bullseye, a finger under his chin, keeping eye-contact.

Bullseye glared murder at him, straining in his awkward and enforced position. The ropes that bound him creaked as he pulled against the knots, and a muffled growl came from his throat; the gag was pulled too tight in his mouth for him to articulate anything.

"I know, darling, this isn’t exactly ideal. We’ll have to improvise a bit. But you  _do_ look absolutely delectable,” Daken shushed him and caressed his face.

"Now, where was I? Yes, your particular charms. Simply put, sweetness, you just feel so  _damn_  good. Even when you disgust me, you  _feel_ great, like the sick satisfaction of picking at a wound.” He traced the scar on Lester’s face with a sharp nail, finding satisfaction in the tension that this translated across his expression in subtle ways.

Lester gave him another pointed glare as to convey his contempt and utter lack of fear. Truly, his scent was thick with anger and resentment, but also the inevitable arousal of being in the same room as him, naked and bound. 

Daken felt a strange thrill at not needing to use any excess pheromones to achieve this. It could be that it had just been so long now, so many months of relentless manipulation and flirtation. Perhaps fantasies of killing him — the  thought sent an anticipatory shiver down his spine. Judging on what might be going through Lester’s head was such a tantalizing guessing game. 

He licked and bit his own lips, needing to feel more.  

Daken grabbed his throat, making Lester’s breathing even more strained, hot puffs of air forced from his nose, and Daken’s own breath hitched in response. Blue eyes stared into his, watering slightly at the corners, but no less defiant than before despite the exposed situation. 

Daken could kill him right there. Crush his trachea and feel him choke to death on the cold floor. Cut his throat and watch him bleed. Rip him into him and taste everything. He could. 

But he didn’t want to.

Exited shudders traveled down his body, he released the pressure on Lester’s throat but kept his hand there. The look in Bullseye’s eyes was worth it, the challenge, the anger, the attraction. 

"Breathe it out." 

Lester shook and his chest heaved beneath the ropes, his face flushing deeply, but he didn’t break eye contact. Few could make being bound and naked look so powerful and dangerous, the shibari knotting enhancing his physique while immobilizing him, his nudity leaving none of his strength hidden behind silly costumes or baggy clothes. 

Daken toyed with the ropes that crossed over his chest, a three-point tie, not a fully traditional technique, but needs must. He would have loved to suspend him from the ropes. He slipped his hand down over rope and sweat-streaked and smooth skin, feeling Lester shiver and struggle to breathe, with a smile he grabbed his half-hard cock. The process of binding him had been exhilarating, arguably for the both of them. 

"Would you like it better or worse if I made you come already?" Daken hummed and watched Lester’s face intently, seeing the flickers of thought and emotion filter through it at his proposition. He toyed with it, giving it a few strokes and thumbed at the corona. Lester grunted and shifted his hips irritably.

"Not yet? We’ll save that for later then, sweetness. Though I must say, the thought of you coming all over yourself as you are now -  _ah_ , that’s a treat. But, let us not get ahead of ourselves.” 

He pressed himself up to Lester, settling between his thighs on his knees, reveling in feeling Lester’s body so close, embracing him. Daken gave him a kiss on the cheek and listened to how his pulse rose, how he forced himself to calm down by controlling his breathing and the look of seething anger in his flashing eyes.

Bullseye had no means of fighting him, arms pulled and tied back as they were wrist, elbow, and shoulder, and his legs knotted tightly over thigh and calf, feet pressed against his firm ass — but he somehow made him feel like it was he who was losing. Daken shivered and licked along Lester’s throat and neck, nibbling a bit on his ear, enjoying the shudders and small noises Lester could manage through the gag.

His chin was covered in drool and Daken longed to hear him scream and cry out, his fingers lingered over the gag for several moments before he let them slip away. Later, Daken told himself and chewed on his lips, holding back with all his self-control. 

Anticipation would make it so much sweeter.

His mouth filled with the taste of blood, he’d broken skin, and Daken could just feel himself lose a bit of himself to the taste of it. He latched on to Lester’s lips smearing blood on them and the gag, stealing a mockery of a kiss and holding it until his own breath was broken and heavy. HIs suit pants felt too tight, but he did not unzip himself yet.

Licking the saliva and blood off his mouth, Daken stood up and circled Lester once more, touching him as he went, sharp nails dragging across his skin. He watched as red lines immediately rose on Lester’s pale and flushed skin. 

"So beautiful," Daken said, kneeling behind him. Lester was straining to keep himself upright, not visibly, but the tension was there, the ropes nearly forcing him to bow his head as Daken was no longer there to keep him steady.

Daken grabbed him by the ropes over his elbows and shoulders and slammed him down face first in the floor. The noise was louder than human bone, the adamantium a richer noise, and Daken didn’t worry about any injury. Instead, he admired the curve of his spine, the spread of his thighs and ass, and the trembling muscle beneath bright red rope. 

Few moments later, Lester seemed to get out of his daze and snarled, struggling to get up again. Daken held him down effortlessly by simply raising his arms as much as they could in the stressed position, pinning him down with the movement.

"There, there—" Daken shushed him, stroking his sides and patting his ass. "Ease up, darling. Breathe." Bullseye huffed and snorted, but he calmed down. 

"Good boy. Let’s get you ready."

Daken rolled up his sleeves and took the bottle of lube he had set aside, pumping out a handful and slicking his fingers. Keeping Lester in position, he gently rubbed him, not quite letting his fingers slip inside of him.

"Shift, sweetness. Get your ass up more," Daken urged him, knowing full well that Lester could barely move, let alone assume a perfect position. But it pleased him to make him try, and Daken was pleasantly surprised that Lester did indeed manage to adjust somewhat.

” _Very_ good,” Daken praised him and rewarded him with slipping a finger inside to the knuckle. Lester shook and startled, grunting and huffing, as he adjusted to the sudden intrusion. Just as he started to relax, Daken curled his finger and drew a drawn-out groan from him.

Daken let out a pleasured sigh and forced in another slick finger, fucking him slowly and making a point of hitting him just right to make him shudder and sob. He wasn’t at all surprised that Lester was already leaking pre-cum, the smell noticeable even over the blood and lube. 

"Is  _this_ how you want to come? Me, finger-fucking your ass as you come all over the floor, milking every single drop of come out of you. Would you like that, sweetness?” Daken laughed, a low dark noise, and thrust his fingers harshly into Lester keeping at it until he was certain that he had him on the edge. He couldn’t see his face in the bowed position, but he could read his scent and heartbeat well enough. 

"I just can’t seem to decide," he teased and withdrew his hand, toying only slightly with his slick hole. Lester shivered and sweat ran down his back, but he was rather lacking in response.

Daken waited him in, admiring the rope-work in the meantime. It wasn’t his best, but he did have a gorgeous body to work with. It would be a pity to have to untie him. However, his current position did have it’s limitations. Daken clicked his tongue irritably as the moment drew out.

Far more gently than he had forced him down, Daken pulled Lester up to his knees again, kissing the side of his face. He was completely flushed, the gag soaked, and his eyes had taken on a glassy look. Daken scaled down his intentions and untied the gag, allowing Lester to breathe freely.

"Such a pretty face you’re making." Another peck on his cheek and a kiss on his lips, tasting his own blood on him. He growled in the back of his throat but forced his actions to be deliberate and far more gentle than he wanted.

Daken maneuvered Lester onto his stomach, kissing and caressing him as he went, Lester grew more responsive as he went, much to his satisfaction. Daken settled between his legs again, unzipping himself and pouring slick over his cock. He thrust in in a smooth movement, settling hilt deep inside him. Daken wanted to come that very moment; the wet, tight heat of Lester’s body was damn well perfection. 

"You feel so  _damn_  good,” he gasped and tried to keep himself from just rutting into him like crazy. Head and body half-bowed, gripping the ropes tightly, Daken rocked against Lester’s tight ass with only the slightest of movements to stay as deep inside of him as humanly possible.

"Harder,  _you bastard_ ,” Lester gasped, whining loudly and trying to squirm against the ropes and him.

"Ask nicely, sweetness."  

"Kill you if you don’t.  _Fuuuck_ —”

Daken thrust pointedly into him, pulling hard on the ropes as he did. “This is why I don’t let you talk during sex. You’re too impatient and rude.”

” _Fuck_  you, fuck  _me_  already. My balls are  _killing_  me.”

” _Such_  romance,” Daken hissed and set a punishing pace until he was certain that Lester couldn’t get another intelligible word out. He would have him scream. “You want to come so bad, I’ll  _fucking_  make youcome.”

Daken lost himself in fucking him harder and faster, pushing himself to his edge, but refusing to come before he made Lester as good as pass out from the force of his orgasm, whining and screaming as he did. Dazed needing to get his body to stop convulsing and shuddering, Daken slumped over Lester, resting his forehead on his shoulders.

"That was…  _awesome_. Fuck. I can’t feel my face,” Lester muttered half into the floor.

"Don’t move. I’ll untie you." Daken pulled out, and carefully both cut and untied the ropes, letting Lester’s limbs slowly down and rubbing circulation back with firm strokes. Once he felt satisfied, he gradually helped Lester into a half sitting-pose, resting his head on his chest. The other man tried to adjust himself but managed to be more in the way than anything else.

"You’ll be shaky for a while, take it easy," Daken said, kissing the top of his head.

"Whatever. Let’s not do this on the floor again. Don’t like… now."

"You mean you’d rather be in bed afterward?" 

"Yeah."

"Fine, I’ll carry you." 

"Fuck no. Last time you tried that you hit my head  _and_  we broke the TV.”

"Valid point. It’d be a bit hard to blame it on Mac a second time."

"True." Lester broke into a yawn, half falling asleep against him.

Daken closed his eyes and told himself it was only for a few moments.


	16. A Little Truth (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: [regarding Daken’s new scars] Bullseye makes fun of Daken for making such a witless "cry for help" and then makes sweet love to him. (org. 2011)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex, slurs, suicide, death, violence, knifeplay, blood play, GORE, blood, heavy sadomasochism, D/s.

Bullseye wondered, more than once,  who his mystery benefactor was over the course of the moderately unusual events that followed his incarceration at a Supermax facility.

It had been the usual bore of isolation, liquid food, and scared shitless guards, then one glorious day, without any explanation, his cell had been left open. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Bullseye outright walked his way out through the prison. A suspicious amount of guards had disappeared from their posts. The remainder, those not important or intelligent enough to accept a bribe, died quickly if messily. There was no real way of bludgeoning a man to death and making it neat unless you killed them with the fist blow. And Bullseye didn’t feel like the latter after several months incarcerated in this shithole. 

Once outside, the first time in three months that he’s seen more than concrete and a tiny window of sky, Bullseye saw that there was someone waiting for him. It wasn’t often that he got such a hands on service from a client.

"I’m your driver. We should move if you’re coming."  

The man held the back door of a parked black Mercedes open. Bullseye nearly decided to kill him on principle, as well as the nagging need to feed his own blood-thirst, but curiosity got the better of him.

"Hi ya. Where are we heading?" 

He stepped into the car’s back seat, a rather large and comfortable, not quite limo sized but spacious. There was a change of clothes his size in muted colors on the adjacent seat; jeans, sneakers, a t-shirt and a hoodie, his usual civilian grab. No notes or messages. But knowing enough to dress him and bust him out in this fashion limited the amount of people who could have been behind this prison break.

"A private airport," his chauffeur said and settled behind the wheel.

That was evidently the full extent of his vocabulary thereafter, despite Bullseye’s rather creative attempts of making the man spill his employers name - he did stop short of  _really_  hurting the man. Cutting off his ear hardly counted. 

In the end, Bullseye allowed curiosity to rule, staying put and changing into his clothes like a good boy. It was somewhat entertaining to watch the blood run down his driver’s neck and color his crisp white shirt red. The man made no attempt to stop the bleeding.

As they reached a small private airfield hours later - he had watched the scenery and supposed that they were somewhere in southern Indiana - there was indeed a plane waiting for him. Bullseye chuckled and shook his head, he was as curious as the next man but this was starting to push it. He was halfway across the runway when there was a sudden gunshot. Turning and readying to run, Bullseye looked back at the car and the driver with his jaw dropping at the sight. The man had inexplicably shot himself in the head and his brains splattered across the hood of the car in a spray of blood and gore.

Bemused, Bullseye stared for a while and wondered once more who was actually in charge of this operation.

Upon boarding, he was informed that the plane was heading for Budapest, Hungary. The flight itself was yet another lesson in surrealism. Whoever had arranged it they had also hired a stewardess, and a chef who arranged a full course meal (some French shit that actually taste damn good) and an in-flight movie – senseless action and bloodshed, just as he liked it.

He idly contemplated killing his travel companions, taking over the plane and heading for Bali or something, but once more that niggling feeling in the back of his head had him abstaining. That and the glassy look on the stewardess; going by that she was already dead and just waiting for her body to realize it. In hindsight, his driver had the same look and he’d gone and blown his own brains out. No fun killing what was already dead.

Besides, he was starting to suspect who was behind his whole affair, he wasn’t certain but it had his feeling over it. Feigned class, no loose ends and no fucking answers to anything.   
  
The landing and trip to the city were uneventful though Bullseye entertained the thought that he could hear the gunshots echo as he left his escorts. He had been given a tiny map with a drawn in path to a plaza and a circled address. He considered throwing it and going off on his own, but he needed to know what this had all been about. Especially if it was who he thought it was who had set all of this up.

Budapest was as it always was, needlessly cultural and sweltering in the summer heat as tourists swarmed the place like locust. He had been here once or twice on a job when he was younger; one thing you could say was that it was a sniper’s paradise with its elaborate buildings and vantage points, where you were nearly invisible, facing down heavily populated squares and streets.

The cafe he had been instructed to lay before him, he barely hesitated and resigned himself to what was to come. Casually, as if he were just another tourist, Bullseye sat down at the table with the cup of coffee set at an empty seat with someone reading a newspaper opposite it.

After a few moments of waiting, Daken carefully put down the newspaper, sipped his espresso and took a spoonful of the confection he was eating.   
  
“This is a Madártej, a type of floating island. Absolutely delicious. Want some?” Daken smiled with vapid delight. 

Bullseye didn’t care for the act. He wasn’t blind or stupid, Daken had gone through a massive effort to bust him out and he could see the strain on his face, carefully masked of course, but for being him Daken was outright falling apart. It was all in the eyes, the darker shadows in his face, the slightly messier look of his hair and clothes, the way he kept his body tense.  
  
“What the hell is this about? Springing me out and dragging me to fucking Europe.”  
  
“Your flight went well I suppose?” Daken asked absentmindedly and continued to daintily eat the foamy white stuff on his plate. The gesture seemed ridiculously theatrical and deliberate.  
  
“Cut the crap. You didn’t fly me over to chitchat,” Bullseye hissed, a bit embarrassed that he had actually gone along with this farce in the first place. He should have hijacked that plane.  
  
“Hmm. Perhaps I wanted to help you out, a little reward for being such a good boy. Furthermore, I wanted you to pay me back for my troubles,” Daken said languidly and took another sip from his cup. “Or perhaps I was just bored and wanted the company.”

Daken gave him that shit-eating grin that Bullseye hated so much. His immediate response was to get angry, he wanted to strangle the bastard, but he held it back, biting down at his lips. Not now, not here. He needed to wait and watch, look for weakness. Just as he thought this, Bullseye finally noticed what his brain has been telling him all along.

“What’s wrong with your hands?” Bullseye asked instead of rising to Daken’s bait, it was more than worth it as he saw Daken’s deer-in-the-headlights reaction.

 _Bull’s eye_  
  
“Nothing to concern yourself over, darling,” Daken said in a slightly less controlled tone and pulled at the sleeves of his shirt.  
  
With snakelike speed, Bullseye grabbed Daken by the wrist of his right arm and pulled it across the table, spilling espresso all over the white tablecloth. The hiss that left Daken’s lips at this, and the snarl that quickly covered it, had Bullseye grinning victoriously as he pulled up the sleeve to uncover Daken’s forearm. He whistled, impressed by the ugly red scar, bordering on surgical in appearance, glaring against Daken’s honeyed skin. 

He pressed his nails against it and Daken faintly gasped in pain. Bullseye had never heard that sound from his lips. He had heard many, so many  _lovely_ noises of suffering but never pain like  _this._ This was genuine. Reluctant.  _Lingering_.  
  
“Let go of me.” Daken tried to pull his arm back, but he was weak like a child and yet another hitch of breath betrayed the pain he was in. 

Bullseye smiled with cruel satisfaction and pressed down on the scar again, excited by the noises that Daken could not hold back and the look on his pretty face. Whatever or whoever had caused the wound had _actually_  hurt him.

Bullseye wanted that, he wanted to feel Daken’s pain as intensely as the other man suffered it.  
  
“Excuse me, sirs,” one of the waitresses interrupted in heavily accented English. Bullseye reluctantly let go of Daken, fingers lingering at his wrist, softly, feeling his pulse race. Daken smiled at the girl and replied something in Hungarian and paid the bill.  
  
“We’re leaving.” Daken pulled away and left the cafe, without looking back at him. Bullseye took the invite and followed him, excited by this new turn of events.  
  
The hotel was nice; a four-star lodging for those a bit more concerned with discretion than flash and with the money to back their demands up. Bullseye got a feeling though that Daken hadn’t stayed there long. The unpacked duffle bag on the floor was a giveaway. The empty bottles of hard liquor and Vicodin told another story, collaborated by the worn look on the other man’s face.

Bullseye imagined the state Daken must have been in only a few days ago - crying and screaming in agony, pain that for once didn’t go away - when those wounds were  _fresh._  As far has he could tell they were healing far, far slower than they were supposed to. He could nearly taste the pain and the rage. But it wasn’t enough, he wanted to  _feel_  it under his hands.  
  
“I’m impressed that you even found something that could hurt you, but kind of disappointed that you managed to botch it up regardless. You could have asked me, I wouldn’t have pussied out at the last moment,” Bullseye commented, deliberately goading Daken. Knowing that it was unlikely that he had inflicted those wounds on himself. Someone with Daken’s ego was unlikely to go down on his own, not without publicly dragging a lot of people with him.  
  
“Fuck you,” Daken said, his back to him, and poured himself a drink. He drank it in one swing and then slammed it against the table. Bullseye smirked at the flinch that involuntarily followed this display of temper.  
  
“Poor little princess, crying for help. You wanted me to come and finish you off – or kiss it all better?” Bullseye mocked and walked up to him, grabbing him by the wrists again and leaning over his shoulder. Daken stared at him, eyes dark and unreadable, and his breath hitching somewhere in between pain and pleasure. 

They were so close at that moment. Bullseye believed that he could feel every tremor, every breath, each heartbeat, and they were all telling him the same thing. But he wanted to hear it.  
  
“Why did you want me here, princess? Tell me,” Bullseye breathed into Daken’s neck, tightening his grip on his wrists, electing a grimace and a grunt in reply.

After a few moments, Daken closed his eyes and sighed, pressing his body back against him, making Bullseye aware of how hard he was as his cock rubbed against Daken’s backside.

"I wanted you."  
  
“I’m guessing that’s a ‘yes’ on the latter then, princess.” Bullseye grinned broader, grinding down at him and bit at his ear. 

He didn’t mind this game, for once truly feeling in control because Daken’s pain was so potent and arousing. He knew that Daken got off on this, their previous games back when they had been Avengers had proved as much, but now perhaps Daken had bitten off a bit more than he could chew. Bullseye shivered and lingered as he was, roughly squeezing Daken’s wrists and nuzzling his neck and the side of his face.

"Now." Daken snapped his jaws at him, mockingly threatening him and making him step back.

"Pushy."

Stopping only to grab the, very convenient, knife on the table, Bullseye dragged Daken to the bed, enjoying the playful resistance the other man offered and pressing him face-first into the mattress. Daken was predictable in this manner, despite how much he enjoyed being treated like the masochist whore he was, he’d struggle every moment of it until he was too far gone to even remember his own name. Bullseye liked that, he supposed that Daken, as much as he, got off on the violence. 

In no time, he was ripping and cutting the clothes off Daken, not minding if he cut into his flesh as well. Bullseye spent some time admiring the twin scars on Daken’s arms. The left one cut his tattoo in half and misshaped it – Bullseye thought it looked better this way. 

Roughly, he flipped Daken around and straddled him, because even though those eyes and that smile drove him insane he wanted to see it, see the moment when pain stopped being pleasure for the sick little fuck writhing beneath him.   
  
“I’m gonna kiss it  _all_  better,” Bullseye crooned in a mocking tone and bit Daken’s lips.

Daken was hard and his cock pressed against his thigh as Bullseye started to play with the knife along his chest, cutting patterns into flesh. He considered stabbing into sensitive organs because that was always interesting, and with Daken the problem of it being over far too soon was eliminated, but the thought could not overcome his need to explore the pain that Daken was in. The prize was the vivid scars on Daken’s arms. They were for some reason highly sensitive to pain and, going by the weakness, whatever had caused them had damaged both muscle and tendons. Possibly even bone. It was hard to tell with the healing factor. Bullseye would have to take a look of his own.   
  
Biting along Daken’s naked torso, licking and drawing blood as he did, Bullseye drew the knife closer and closer to the scar on his left arm, cutting into it just as he leaned back to observe Daken’s face. The cry that left Daken was exquisite and the contorted look of pain was real, but there was no fear. He felt like he lost his breath just staring at that beautiful expression.

Bullseye refocused on the scar and the knife, the blood welling out in greater quantities than he had grown used to with Daken, and cut. With a smile on his face, he opened the scar, pushing the small knife as deep as it goes, and delights in the writhing and whimpering. It took far less effort than ever before to cut him open and to peel aside the flesh, like cutting into a ripe fruit to expose the core. He even wiped away some of the blood to show off the tattoo as a contrast to his dissected arm.   
  
Quickly, he discovers that he’d been correct in his assessment as he pressed his fingers in the wound, exploring the insides of Daken’s forearm. It felt different and the Muramasa blade that had been situated there, was nowhere to be found. Faintly, he can feel the sharp edge of re-growth that might become a new claw, this time just in bone, if Daken’s healing factor ever kicked in enough again. Daken had basically been amputated. That explained the continuous pain and touch sensitivity. 

Bullseye continued to just feel the bloody mess with his fingers, delighting in the slickness of the blood, the roughness of tissue and the sharp edge of bone. Daken trembled and whimpered beneath him, tears running down his hollowed and flushed cheek in streams, making Bullseye nearly choke on his own arousal.

Smiling happily, like a man doing what he does best, Bullseye started to repeat the process with his right arm. Reopening the scar, dragging both knife and hands inside it and just feeling the extent of the damage. He knew what to look for now and lingers on the new bone, pressing and tearing any attempt at healing apart with his slick fingers. It’s satisfying beyond measure because every touch made Daken cry, scream and mewl pathetically and it was beautiful. Tears of pain do not stop running down Daken’s face, at the same time he could feel Daken’s hard cock against him. He supposed that he liked that too.   
  
Finally satisfied with his work, Bullseye sucked his blood covered fingers, even though the sheer amount of blood made him want to gag. He then leaned low for another biting kiss to give Daken a taste of his own blood. Daken was dazed and pale, but eagerly licked and bit at his mouth, bucking his hips upward, drawing a predatory grin from Bullseye. He hadn’t forgotten the ache of his own hardness for even a moment, but it was far more satisfying to play with Daken before he fucked him like the other man wanted.   
  
“You want more, princess? Want to forget your pathetic, witless existence because you can’t end it?” Bullseye mocked and Daken snarled at him an animal. Blood-soaked and cut open like a Christmas ham, Daken was truly a mindless beast and Bullseye wondered if Daken has any idea of anything other than pain and pleasure in his current state.   
  
“Sssh, I’ll give you want you want. Make you forget, make you feel good.” Bullseye caressed Daken’s face, Daken let out something which sounded like a purr at this, craving the touch.

Backing down in between Daken’s legs, he unzipped his jeans, pulling them down to his ass, slicking himself with Daken’s spilled blood. He grabbed Daken by his thigh, right above his knee, and guides himself inside him with a slow thrust as Daken squirmed and whined beneath him. Readjusting his grip, Bullseye slammed deeper inside of Daken, who moaned and cried at the intrusion. Needy, but his arms too weak and hurting to be of any use, Daken wrapped his legs around his waist and pressed himself into ever thrust.  

"I love how you gag for it." Bullseye laughed and pressed his hands on those broken arms, settling his weight on them as much as possible, making Daken scream again.  
  
Harshly, he thrust into Daken, twisting his grip on his arms, forcing out whimpers and cries in a steady stream. Bullseye leaned down low once more, biting and kissing Daken’s bruised lips as he watched those dark eyes that spoke of both ecstasy and agony. He needed that, he wanted that. With a snarled, Bullseye tore into Daken with all he had, not caring for anything but the feel of him, the blood and how he screamed, everything echoing through his body and making him both drunk and desperate.

Bullseye nearly blacked out as he came deep inside Daken, falling down on him. His breath heaving and his head full of pleasure, he looked at Daken; his face was pained mess of tears, smeared blood and agony. He wiped the tears off Daken’s face roughly, grabbed him by the hair and pulled his face up for a messy kiss. 

With a fleeting feeling of charitability, he slipped his hand between their bodies and jerked Daken off, making sure to bite and thrust into him as he did. It took him nearly ripping Daken’s lip off and choking him to get him to come in messy spurts over the both of them. Rolling onto his side, he allowed Daken to curl up next to him, cradling his ruined arms and shivering from the cold and the blood loss. Bullseye pressed a kiss to his face, pulled a sheet over them and let himself drift off.

Bullseye woke to the sound of footsteps, blearily he watched Daken get dressed as he tried to get his sleep drunk head into gear. Daken had showered and his arms seemed to have healed to their previous scarred state.   
  
“Morning,” Daken greeted him shortly as he was putting on his cuff-links, he hadn’t worn them yesterday and it was presumably a sign that Bullseye should leave his scars and the very subject be.  
  
“Satisfied, princess?” Bullseye asked, feeling a bit testy as he was still covered in dried blood and come, disliking the cool front Daken was putting up.   
  
“Hmm, very.”

“You orchestrated all of this, didn’t you? Not just the suicide crew that brought me here, but everything,” Bullseye said sourly though he wasn’t as displeased by this as he had expected. Somehow deceit had become what functioned as normal with Daken. However, he was still fond of the illusion that he had a semblance of free will around the man.  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
“Why did you want me here?” Bullseye said, repeating his question from earlier, not referring to Daken’s sick little need for pain, but a big fat why in general.  
  
“Hmm. A little truth then. To make it ours, and to make it bearable,” Daken said cryptically and adjusted his collar.

Bullseye had the feeling that he somehow understood though as usual, Daken never really answered anything. He let the subject go, knowing that he wouldn’t get any other answer out of the feral man, not even if he tried his very best. And his very best was very good at getting people to talk.  
  
“Whatever. Are you getting me out of this tourist trap or are we actually doing anything here beyond getting your rocks off?”  
  
“I was thinking of a recreational holiday.” Daken grinned nastily at the gun on the table and a series of photographs.   
  
One thing Bullseye could say in Daken’s favour, he was never dull.


	17. Three's Company (Daken/Bullseye/Venom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venom joins in on the fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by madhatt  
> warnings: threesome, tentacles, blood

“What do you mean, we’re not alone?” Bullseye grumbled and pulled at Daken’s hair, his drunken grin returning when Daken winced.

“I mean that I can scent Gargan’s stench a mile away and I’m 100% that he’s behind that door.”

Bullseye promptly half turned and hollered at the top of his longs, “Mackie, you perv,  FUCK off or JOIN up.”

Daken winced again at the volume. “Screaming is not necessary, sweetness.”

“Whatever.” Bullseye nuzzled his face and went back to tugging at his hair and pawing at his pants.

Daken let himself be distracted, but he didn’t fail to notice as the door slipped ajar and a dark shadow crept along the ceiling. He pretended not to see and helped Bullseye get naked, the assassin was very  _insistent_ when drunk and Daken couldn’t say he minded the attention.

The feeling of heat above and behind him made Daken lean his body back, trusting that their guest would overcome his shyness. Gargan didn’t mess things up and Daken relaxed into the thick length of tongue and tentacle.

Bullseye grimaced as he felt the sticky appendage, pulling his hand away and nearly unbalancing himself. “Touch me again and I’ll cut it off.”

“ _You_  invited him,” Daken remarked and shivered slightly as Venom’s tongue licked along his naked skin.

“Shut up and fuck me already. Mac can take care of you, can’t ya, buddy?”

“Yesss,” Venom answered obediently. Daken doubted that much of Mac was in charge at the moment. 

“S’all good, fuckface. Bed, now.” Bullseye dragged them both back to his bed, his strength uncoordinated and excessive, landing them in a pile of limbs and half discarded clothes. Daken rolled his eyes and undressed the squirming pile that was his lover, stopping to glare at Venom to stop him from even thinking of helping. He didn’t fancy having his clothes ruined more than they were. 

After an elbow and a knee in awkwardly painful places, Daken had arranged himself and Bullseye comfortably and nodded at Venom to join them. “Bite me excessively and it’ll cost you.”

A whirring whine and the same slick warmth was his response. It would have to do, Daken supposed and focused on sinking slowly into Lester’s relaxed body. It felt wonderful and more so when Lester spread himself out wider and chuckled in pleasure, squirming and shuddering around him. Daken stilled and spread his knees wider to let Venom sink in behind him and into him, however instead of a hard length of cock, he felt a thin and moving tendril slip inside of him. Daken froze and his breath hitched at the unfamiliar sensation, the closest he could think of was a particularly bendy and vibrating anal-beads that simultaneously felt liquid. It wasn’t  _bad_  by any stretch of imagination, but strange nonetheless.

“Moveeeee,” Lester whined at the interruption and bucked beneath him. “Wanna feel you.”

Daken thrust and dug his nails into Lester’s thighs demonstratively. “Pushy,” he admonished and rocked gently, adjusting to the feelings and letting Venom set some of the pace. Frankly, it was easier to coordinate with the symbiote than it usually was in a threesome, slippage wasn’t an issue and Venom was more than strong enough to keep him in place. It was a comfortable haze to rock pressed between their bodies, Daken quickly worked up a sweat and a tugging need for more intense pleasure.

Once he started to feel stretched and open, Daken made it clear that he was done with the foreplay by pulling out. Biting his lip to keep focus, he readjusted himself on top of Bullseye and pushed inside of him once more. Lester moaned happily and clutched at him, bucking and writhing carelessly, fully focused on having as much as possible filling him. It was  _endearing_.

“Go ahead,” Daken ordered, glancing back at the hulking monstrosity that was Venom, arching his back and steadying himself. Regardless, the feeling of being  _mounted_  by Venom was akin to being torn apart from the inside. Daken’s jaw dropped and he shook, tremors running violently through his body, hands gripping the sheets tightly. He slumped down on elbows and knees, nearly resting fully on Lester.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so pretty,” Lester gasped and arched up to kiss him, biting his lip and licking his chin sloppily. Daken growled and fucked into him and back on Venom, hissing between his teeth and forcing himself to move faster and harder even as it was hard to even try to think. He could feel Lester’s hard cock pressed between their sweat-slicked bodies, his hot-tight insides clenched around him and his scent a cloud of unadulterated lust and expensive vodka. The pressing fullness of Venom and that same strange liquid sensation inside of him heightening ever movement to the point that he was uncertain if he was coming or not with every breath. 

“Oh God, this fuh-feels —  _good_ ,” Daken moaned, pushing himself to the brink and his world was a live wire of white heat. Venom screeched and Daken felt his claws on his thighs and back, ripping skin and flesh apart, blood and sweat running down his shaking limbs. It was the only clarity he felt as he hung on to Lester, half-sobbing at the over-sensitivity of his entire body. He felt like he was passing out, like he was choking on the air he breathed and the thick lust that hung in the room. He wanted it to stop, it was too much, he was losing it.

A claws hand pulled his head back by his hair, arching his back severely and nearly seating him fully on Venom’s cock, pulling him out of Lester with a wet drag. Daken whined at the hard thrusts and heavy balls slapping against his ass as much as the loss of his lover. Dazed and loose-limbed, he stared down at Lester who was a complete mess of come, blood and sweat, shuddering at the cold air with a puddle of come between his legs. Daken’s vision swam and he sank deeper into Venom’s grip. It feel too good to do anything about it as he felt teeth sink into his shoulder as Venom ground into him. 

Daken didn’t feel fully conscious until he was tipped back on the bed and the wet tugging of his insides as Venom’s massive cock pulled out. Blinking heavy, he let Lester pull him into his arms and to wipe his face before he kissed him.

“Thought you’d like it,” Bullseye hummed and curled around Daken who was once more slipping into hazy unconsciousness. 

“Stay if you want, buddy. Hog the blankets and I’ll kill you.”

“Um, there’s not much space…”  

“Not my problem, shit for brains.”

Mac whined and curled up at Daken’s feet and tentatively licked at the blood and come along his legs. Daken shuddered awake, kicking at him until he rearranged himself along his body instead. Daken fell asleep nestled between their bodies, not minding for once being held.


End file.
